RPM: Not Easy Being Green
by JCassie241
Summary: This is a series of loosely connected one-shots featuring RPM's Ranger Series Green, Ziggy Grover. *Now updated!* with "What It's Like to Die Alive, pt. 2." Yes, I left Ziggy in peril for over a year. But I came back, yes? The adventure continues...
1. Breathing Underwater

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I do not own these copyrights. I'm not entirely sure why I'm writing these, except that it's fun. Enjoy.

Author's Note: We pick up right where "Go for the Green" left off.

**Breathing Underwater**

"If you could only see

That I'm sinking like a stone

The sea is getting colder

Every second as I go"

-- Feeder, "Picture of Perfect Youth"

Ziggy had never spent a great deal of time wondering what it was like to be a Power Ranger. From the looks of it, there was a good deal of bouncing around involved, and some cool tricks with weapons and energy that made the whole thing look more like a game of amped-up paintball than anything else. It didn't look that hard, really, and if you knew how to fight and knew how to stand there and look stoic when you didn't have a helmet on, he figured you'd have ninety percent of it nailed.

But when he suddenly became the one inside the suit, he realized that for him, there was one thing about being a Power Ranger that was damn near impossible.

Trying to keep from throwing up.

His stomach had been doing somersaults ever since that first explosion of ice-cold golden light swallowed his body in a flash. Perhaps if there had been a little time, he could've sat down somewhere and put his head between his knees, gulping in deep breaths of the rarified air inside his helmet and trying to convince himself that he was dreaming. Any minute now he'd wake up in Corinth lockup again where at least he knew exactly who his enemies were and how to exploit their stupidity. As it turned out, however, the life of a Power Ranger was experienced on fast-forward, and the ground hadn't even stopped trembling from where Gopher Bot had collapsed into a thirty-ton pile of scrap metal when Dillon grabbed him by the elbow and started talking, his voice hurried and harsh. "You know what happens now, right?"

"What happens now?" Ziggy was still staring up at the towering High Octane Megazord in front of him, trying to process exactly what was going on. Randomly, he wondered just how much Scott could obliterate with that thing if he ever had a particularly rotten day and decided to take it out on downtown Corinth.

"We have to go back. Debriefing."

"So?"

"So," Dillon said, and knocked his knuckles against the side of Ziggy's helmet. "I think they're going to wonder who's in there."

Ziggy's stomach flipped again, and he glanced over, swallowing hard. "Don't let them kill me?"

"I'll do my best."

It seemed to take only moments before they were back in the garage, and Ziggy was taking a deep breath and pressing the button on his morpher to power down the Series Green suit. He felt electric tingles zip across the surface of his skin, crawling with vibrant energy. Suddenly, his helmet was gone and he was blinking into the room's white light, his smile somewhat foolish, looking directly into the shocked faces of Summer, Scott, and Flynn. It would have been a great moment for a classic line, or perhaps a storied quote that little kids would memorize and recite a hundred years from now when they recalled how the Power Rangers had saved humanity for the last, and most important, time. Unfortunately, he couldn't think about anything beyond how it was going to feel when Scott broke his neck, and the moment passed.

The plan that Dillon had scrapped together was to introduce Series Green to his new teammates, make a quick case for why both of them shouldn't be dragged outside and killed on the spot, then take the others aside for some one-on-one convincing. Ziggy hadn't understood how the others would listen to Dillon when Dillon himself didn't exactly have the greatest credentials, but he'd gone along. And when Dillon had disappeared into the lounge with the others and Ziggy was left standing in the hall, talking to no one but himself, he heard a throat clear sharply in the room behind him, its edges thrumming with digital blurr.

_Okay, Zig-man. Time to think fast._

He plastered on a brilliant smile for the benefit of the television monitor behind him and turned. "Doc, I don't think I mentioned how great you look today. That's gotta be a new font, right?"

"Do you care to enlighten me on how, exactly, this took place?" Dr. K's voice was cool and clipped, even for her.

"Uh, well, I think Dillon gave you the scoop." Ziggy smoothed his hands down the front of his uniform nervously. Even powered down, he could feel the energy coursing in tiny rivulets through the fabric, leeching straight through his skin into his blood and muscles. It was like being hyped up on a wicked caffeine binge.

"I find it difficult to imagine there were no other alternatives open to you."

"When was the last time you went hand-to-hand with a Venjix robot?" His eyes caught on the handle of his blaster, tucked neatly at his hip, and he lifted it up cleanly from its holster. "My options were pretty limited, I'd say."

"Perhaps you don't understand what it is we're trying to do here," she snapped. "The fate of humanity rests on this city, Ziggy, and in the hands of what remains of our military and in this program."

"I know that," he muttered, turning the blaster over in his hands. The energy continued to thrum through his body, like a second heartbeat.

"You should know, then, that you've made a very dangerous choice. Possibly a disastrous one."

Exasperated, Ziggy lowered the weapon. "Well, what was I supposed to do, Doc? If it wasn't for my 'disastrous decision,' this technology would be in Venjix's hands right now. Would you prefer Tenaya what's-her-name to be wearing this outfit instead of me?"

"This isn't a game, Ziggy. This is the fate of our world and everyone on it!"

"I know!" he snapped, and the energy seemed to leap up within him, sinking into his frazzled nerves. "I know, Doc. Okay? I mean, yeah, this didn't work out the way you wanted, I get that. But it's not exactly my dream job, either."

"You expect me to believe that your bonding with the green morpher was an accident?"

"It wasn't an accident," he replied tightly, glaring at the screen. "I did it, sure. But not because I wanted to. NOT because I wanted to."

She hesitated, and Ziggy could almost feel her critical gaze upon him, narrow and uncertain. "Most people want to become Power Rangers."

"I know that."

"Most people in your situation would leap at the chance."

"What situation would that be, exactly?" The energy coursing through him was making his hands tremble.

"You've led a colorful life since coming into Corinth."

"Pretty colorful before that, too."

Dr. K sighed, which in computer-ese sounded like a burst of static. "Ziggy--"

"Look, Doc," he interrupted, waving her off. "You don't need to keep reminding me that I'm the worst person in Corinth for this job, okay? Do you think I don't know the responsibility that comes with this? Do you think I haven't lost just as much--" He forced himself to stop, and he ran the back of one shaking hand across his mouth. "There's... there's just no point in arguing about it. It is what it is. This..." He looked back down at himself, and his mind still refused to believe that was really his body, wrapped in green and silver. "This is what it is. I'll do the best I can. Okay?"

They both went silent then, and the only sound in the room was the lazy buzzing of a fat housefly in the corner, weaving through the air in drunken circles.

When Dr. K finally spoke again, her voice was quiet, and the edginess was gone. "There's something else you should know."

"What's that?"

"It's all right to be afraid."

"I'm not--" he began, but the words were choked off by his closing throat. He swallowed again and focused his attention back on the blaster, testing its weight in his hand and squinting down the weapon's smooth lines. "No, I don't think it's okay. Not now. Not anymore."

"It's only natural. Everyone is afraid, Ziggy. What sets us apart is the ability to move past it. To find the strength to act for good through that fear."

He glanced up, frowning for a moment. "Did you just come around to my side on this?"

"Well," she said dryly. "It is what it is."

Ziggy smiled, hesitant. "So you understand that this is actually your fault for giving me the morpher in the first place."

"I am already in the process of designing a training regimen for you... Series Green," she replied cooly, but he could hear the amusement in her voice, buried somewhere deep inside her microchips. "You can expect to spend a great deal of time in the simulators from now on."

"Well, bring it on," he shrugged. "If I'm going to have these powers, I guess I need to figure out how to use them."

"You can start by putting down the blaster."

"Yeah? What, afraid I might shoot something?" He waved the weapon around carelessly, smile growing. "Give me a target. I can shoot this thing."

"I won't have you destroying our command center."

"C'mon, I mean it," he said impatiently. "What's the one thing in this room you would blow up if you could? I mean, besides me, obviously."

"You need to prove you can handle these weapons before you continue using them, Ziggy. The traditional process for the assignment of a Ranger Series operator demands a minimum of--"

He had stopped listening about four words into the latest speech, and he turned, eyes scanning the room. A half-second later, the blaster was leveled over his left forearm and he squeezed off a shot that screamed through the command center's cool air and, in a blink, turned the fat housefly into a tiny, surprised puff of ash, which filtered down softly to the floor.

Stunned silence followed, during which Ziggy straightened and squinted into the muzzle of the gun appreciatively.

Dr. K finally found her voice. "I... take it you've used one of those before?"

"A couple of times." It was hard to keep the smirk off his face.

"Well, between that and your mouth, perhaps the world stands a chance with you after all."

He smiled. "I appreciate the vote of confidence."

"I did notice during the battle that you seemed to handle that weapon with much greater dexterity than your Power Axe."

"One thing at a time."

"Where did you learn to shoot like that?"

Ziggy's smile faded, just slightly. "Long story."

---------

Next up - "Us Against the World," wherein Ziggy gets some quiet time on the roof to contemplate his new role in life. Dillon and Flynn join him.


	2. Us Against the World

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I do not own these copyrights. I remain confused as to my use of time in writing these. Enjoy!

Author's Note: This series moves so fast it's hard to keep up with. This takes place somewhere around the time of "Rain."

**Us Against the World**

"And if it all ends;

Everybody in the world is gone

I'll be standing with you"

-- Christina Milian, "Us Against the World"

Ziggy was frightened.

Much as he hated to admit it.

Sitting lightly on the tarpaper rooftop, the newly christened Ranger Operator Series Green dangled his feet over the concrete ledge, feeling the strong winds brush lazily through his tangled hair. He had to remind himself now, as always, that it wasn't a real breeze he was feeling but the manufactured climate inside the Corinth city dome, and the thought of that gave him a chill that had nothing to do with the cool evening breezes. Below him, the roof tapered down to different levels like stairsteps, with giant pipes and vents snaking out of the building. The doc's monitoring equipment was everywhere, too, clamped onto the pipes and hanging in great, complicated bundles of metal and wire off the sides of the roof. Turning his eyes heavenward, he tried to forget the feelings inside; tried to keep his mind turning towards something else, anything else. The sky above him was smoky with twilight, and he could see tiny twinkles of stars peeking through. Who knew if they were real of not; he didn't pretend to know much about Corinth's weather systems, except that they kept the electromagnetic radiation out and the clean, filtered air in, and during the day they projected pretty blue skies on the inside of the dome to help everyone forget the shattered planet that lay right outside the door.

He fingered the hem of his leather jacket, feeling the smooth material glide across his fingers. He was grateful for the warmth it offered, but it still felt odd on him, like he was a little kid dressing up in somebody else's clothes, pretending to be something he wasn't. Dillon had scoffed at that when he caught Ziggy sizing himself up in the mirror, and the hand Dillon dropped on his shoulder had been sympathetic and reassuring. Still, it was easy for Dillon. He didn't struggle through training like Ziggy did, and he wasn't the one who had accidentally let go of his weapon during a battle and had to run like a girl when one of the Grinders picked it up and swung it -- with much more dexterity that Ziggy himself possessed -- straight at Ziggy's head. Still, the others had said it was all part of the process, and he'd be just fine in time. Just fine.

Gritting his teeth, Ziggy stood, spacing his feet wide on the ledge and breathing deep. It wasn't much of a drop if he lost his balance since the roof staggered out before the true edge, so he didn't worry about falling. Hell, he could practice his tuck and roll if he did. Instead, he drew his focus within, and when he did he could taste a faint ghost of acrid smoke from the vents, probably picked up from the Venjix robots that camped out at Gate 26 nearby. It was reality, sick and cloying, drifting into a lovely, programmed evening inside the only domed city left standing in the world.

And the fear remained inside like a sickness, dark and silky and dripping down his spine.

"Ziggy?"

Looking back in surprise, he saw Dillon poking his head around the stairwell door. The stick of another ridiculous lollipop was hanging out of the corner of his mouth, and Dillon smiled a little around it, lifting his eyebrows in silent question.

"Yeah, it's okay," Ziggy shrugged, motioning him over. He sat back down as Dillon drew near. "How did you find me up here?"

"I wasn't looking, actually." Dillon settled down by Ziggy's dangling feet, leaning back against the wall and stretching his legs out in front of him with a contended sigh.

"Why are you creeping around on the roof, then?"

"I could ask you the same question, but I was looking for the peace and quiet." He spun the lollipop around in his mouth and leaned his head back to look up, much as Ziggy had done only moments before. "God, it's beautiful up here, don't you think?"

Ziggy didn't bother to look. "What time is it?"

Dillon lifted up his arm, peering at the watch face on the inside of his wrist. "A little after six."

"You don't have that built into your electronics somewhere?"

"Wouldn't be wearing a watch if I did."

"That's a good point." Ziggy rubbed the palms of his hands against his jeans.

Dillon glanced back at him. "I thought you were up for munitions training at six."

"What's the doc going to teach me about ammo that I don't already know?"

Dillon made a face. "Something, I'm sure. She knows so much about tactical battle maneuvers it made my head spin this afternoon."

Ziggy sighed. "What she wants to do is use me for open target practice, I'll bet. I swear, half the time I think she's disabled the simulation and brought the real thing in. If I get hit upside the head by one more of those walking can-opener monsters of hers, she won't have to worry about me using the green powers. I'll be dead."

"Well, she's no fan of mine, either," Dillon replied. "I think she gets a lot of pleasure out of watching me dodge those energy blasts in evasion training." He winced at the memory and rubbed his shoulder. "Not that I always manage to."

"I don't know why she trains you in the first place. Aren't you superhuman with all that built-in crap of yours?"

Dillon seemed to ponder that for a moment, then shrugged. "You know, I'm not sure. I don't know what my limits are yet."

Ziggy glanced down at him. "Still don't remember anything, huh?"

"Not much. Nothing useful, anyway."

"You're better off," he muttered. He kept his eyes down, but he could feel Dillon's gaze upon him.

After a moment, Dillon turned, resting an elbow casually on the ledge. "How far you can see from up here, do you think?"

"I don't know. You can't tell where the fake stops and the real starts with this dome."

"Maybe I should look for myself," Dillon replied with a sly grin, but before he could stand, Ziggy had pressed a restraining hand into his shoulder. "What?"

"Forget it," Ziggy replied. "Not after yesterday."

Dillon made another face, this one a bit more sour than before. "That was an accident."

"Dillon, you fell almost thirty feet and you were about to land on your head. If Flynn hadn't been there to break your fall with that time doohickey of his--"

"I slipped," he insisted. "I didn't fall. Doctor K should have checked the weather forecast before she had us practice with the Zords. That alloy compound they're made out of is like walking on wet ice."

"Well, I'm not taking any chances. Who do you think'll get blamed if you fall again?"

"I saw YOU standing up here just a second ago," Dillon pointed out.

"Yeah, but I'm a professional."

"Professional what?" he snorted, but acquiesced, and settled back. The silence was companionable, and Ziggy almost relaxed.

"So what's up?" Dillon said suddenly.

Ziggy frowned. "I thought you said you came up here for peace and quiet."

"It's more fun to mess with you."

"Har har."

"Is this too much for you?" Dillon asked bluntly. "I mean, you seem to be hanging in there pretty well, but I know this is a lot."

"Nah, it's okay," he shrugged. "I mean, yeah, I look like a crippled pelican out there compared to the rest of you, but it's all right."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah."

"Has Fresno Bob been getting on your case again?"

"Nah, I haven't seen him in weeks. I think Tenaya Seven scared the pants off him."

"She scared ME pretty good, too," Dillon snorted. "But what's bothering you, then? I can tell something's been on your mind."

"It's nothing. I'm fine."

"Fine, huh?"

"Fine," Ziggy said flatly. End of discussion, case closed. But the silence that followed was weighted, and oppressive, and growing worse with each passing second. He hesitated, then gave up. This was Dillon, for God's sake; the same guy who brought him through the Venjix barricade and back into Corinth not twenty minutes after he'd threatened his life with a rusted-out muffler. Dillon was also the same guy who'd never asked him one question about Fresno Bob and his history there, or why the gangs in Corinth prison were so intimately concerned with introducing him to a slow and painful death. If he couldn't trust him, he couldn't trust anyone. "Have you... have you ever just wished things could be like they used to be?"

"Honestly, no."

Ziggy laughed a little, trying to swallow down his embarrassment. "Okay, just forget I said anything."

"I don't mean it like that," Dillon protested, shifting to face him. "I mean... I just don't remember that much, Ziggy."

"Must be nice."

"Believe me, you don't want this," Dillon said. "The only things I remember are fragments, and there's no concept of when they happened or if they even happened at all. I dream things, and I don't know if they're real. At least you know what your past is. At least you can remember."

Ziggy glanced up. "Sometimes I really wish I couldn't."

A pause. "Well, maybe we can talk to Doctor K. She can hit you upside the head with an Anvil Bot--"

"Shut up."

"That would do the trick, wouldn't it? Although I think I'd rather have my memories than risk getting my head split open by a--"

"Shut up!" It was sharper than he had intended, and his hands clenched into fists as the ebbing memories within him rushed forward, threatening to draw him under.

Dillon hesitated, then stood up, brushing the dirt off his jeans. Ziggy looked away, fully expecting him to leave, but instead Dillon crossed behind him and leaned over the brick ledge, idly staring down. Ziggy glanced over. "Hey... I'm sorry, Dill. It's just..."

"It's okay," Dillon replied easily. "I understand. I keep forgetting that you -- all of you -- lived through a nightmare with Venjix."

Ziggy sighed in frustration. "It's not okay. I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at my parents." He stared into his hands. "They were so convinced that we'd be safe. And when Venjix came, it all happened so fast."

"How did you get out?" Dillon asked quietly.

"Benny."

"Who?"

"A friend of mine," Ziggy said, waving his hand dismissively. "But I never saw anyone else, from that day until now. Not my mom, not my dad, not my sister... not even my dog." He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "No one else."

"You know, there's a chance they might have gotten to one of the bunkers, Ziggy. Scott was just telling me yesterday that there are probably thousands of people still out there, waiting until it's safe. You shouldn't give up on them."

"I haven't. It's just, sometimes... I just wish I could go back home again. Just once more."

They were quiet for a time, listening to the breezes and tinny horns of traffic below. "Well," Dillon finally said. "At least the food's pretty good here."

Ziggy laughed, despite himself, and glanced over. "Sorry. I don't mean to lay all this crap on you."

"Nah." Dillon plopped down beside him on the ledge. "You're strong, Ziggy. You'll get through."

"That's just it." He kept his eyes down, not daring to meet Dillon's gaze. "I'm not strong. Not like you, or Summer, or any of the rest of you. Geez, even the doc's stronger than I am."

Dillon crunched loudly into his lollipop and tilted his head to the side, looking thoughtful. "Did you know Summer told me that she was going to be a doctor before all this happened?"

"I can see that."

"Yeah. She ended up going into the military when things got bad. She had a big extended family that stayed in Portsmouth while she came to the front lines."

Ziggy could feel the dread pooling, cold and sickly, in the pit of his stomach. "Did they make it?"

"She doesn't know. There's no way to know, really."

"I didn't know that about her. How does she get through?"

"She's strong." Dillon patted him on the shoulder affectionately. "Same as you are, even if you can't see it. Cut yourself some slack, would you?"

A rusty creak drew their attention, and Flynn poked his head out, peering into the approaching darkness. "Hey, guys!" he exclaimed, his thick Scottish accent bringing a smile to both of their faces. "How come I didn't get invited to this party?"

"Because we knew you'd bring that blended fruit crap of yours with you," Ziggy said with a grin.

Flynn's expression turned sly. "Doctor K says if you don't report to the training room in five minutes, she's locking you both in the underwater tank for the night."

"Tell her we've been practicing our sparring up here," Dillon said. "And working damn hard at it, too."

Flynn smirked. "I don't think she's going to buy that."

"Why not?"

"Wait a second," Dillon said suddenly, his gaze sharpening. "How did you even know we were up here?"

Flynn hooked a thumb toward the doorframe above him. "You've not seen her security cameras? Doctor K has every square inch of this place bugged."

"Great," Ziggy sighed, and focused his glare on the general direction Flynn had indicated. "I'm remembering this next time I have to go to the bathroom, doc."

Dillon snorted and cuffed him on the back of the head.

The hours that followed passed in a whirlwind of training, weapons, bruises, and prep; before Ziggy knew it, the alarms were sounding and he was on the battlefield, morphed and ready, his peripheral vision inside the helmet filled with energy statistics and trajectories as the lurching Grinders came toward him in jerky halt-step. Mirroring the defensive blocks of the others, Ziggy drew up his forearm to ward off an incoming punch and looked to the left, where Dillon and Summer moved in perfect sync, slipping nimbly out of the line of fire even as they brought down the Venjix foot soldiers into heaps of scrap. To his right, Scott and Flynn had his back, almost instinctually aware of what their teammates needed as they fought. Ziggy heard Summer send up a whoop of excitement when Dillon laid out two Grinders at once, and her voice mixed with the laughter of the others as they fought, and won, scratching the darkness with electricity and taking back yet another small bit of real estate for humanity. The sounds raced up his back and lit his heart, and in that swell of excitement and joy, clad in the colors of Ranger Operator Series Green and fighting to save what was left of the world, he knew.

He was home.


	3. Soul and Spirit

A/N - I don't own characters or copyrights. This is a series of loosely connected stories featuring RPM's Ranger Series Green, Ziggy Grover. The latest installment is "Soul and Spirit," in which Summer tries to convince Ziggy that he may have what it takes to be a Ranger after all. This takes place after the episode "Ranger Green."

**Soul and Spirit**

"You don't have to fake it  
You know I can take it  
What if I told you your tears haven't been ignored  
And everything that was taken can be restored?"  
-- Bethany Joy Galeotti, "Feel This"

It would have been simple had an actual Venjix robot been standing in front of him, gears clicking and dribbles of oil spilling out of the cracks in its armor as it swung a gigantic metal fist at his head. Ziggy would be the first to admit that he wasn't much of a fighter, but he was scrappy, by God, and even he could duck and run once the adrenaline started flowing. He could move, then, and engage, and do whatever he needed to do if it meant keeping all of his important body parts attached.

But it was awfully hard to get into the spirit when the only thing he was staring down was a punching bag.

Taking a deep breath, Ziggy curled his fingers into loose fists and lifted them up, narrowing his eyes at the bag and trying not to feel utterly ridiculous. He was alone inside the base's small training room, a sterile space with a collection of weights and a treadmill to complement the punching bag. It had become Ziggy's second home in recent weeks, and he had become quickly and painfully aware of two things -- first, that he appeared to be the only Ranger who ever needed to take advantage of the place, and second, that no matter how many hours he spent sinking weak punches into the canvas bag, it didn't seem to be helping him on the battlefield one bit.

The looming Doc K television screen in the corner didn't help matters much, either. It might have been okay if he could have tuned in a sports channel or something like that, but he learned on his first visit to the training room that the channel buttons were disabled. Ziggy had asked the good doctor about that once, and she had actually glanced up from her computer long enough to shoot him a withering look. It was all the answer he needed, even though as he ducked out the door, he'd heard her mutter something about getting around to that after they'd saved the world. Of course, if anyone had wanted Ziggy's personal opinion on the subject, he thought Doc K still used her screens to spy on them in the various corners of the base, to make sure goofing off was kept to an absolute minimum. The ability to switch over to Sportscenter would definitely curtail that.

Of course, nobody ever wanted Ziggy's opinion, so it was a moot point anyway.

He threw another punch into the bag and wondered if it looked as girly as it felt. He was missing something, that was for sure. No one had ever taught him how to fight, and when he'd gotten pinned against the jungle gym on the playground as a kid and slammed against brick walls by the mafia goons as a teenager, it had been his wit and words that saved him, not his fists. He looked down at his hands, curling the fingers tight against his palms. Maybe that was the secret, keeping his fists tight. Maybe he needed to pop the punch from his shoulder more and get a little torque behind it, or curve his shoulders before he connected with the bag.

Or maybe he needed to give up while he was still ahead.

"Are you fighting that thing or giving it a massage?" A cheerful voice, and Ziggy glanced back reluctantly to find Summer's trim form filling the doorway behind him, standing in that relaxed and confident pose that seemed to come so naturally to her. Her hands were shoved in the back pockets of her jeans, and the smile on her face was bemused. "Ziggy, I know you can do better than that."

"I'm working on it," he grumbled, and ran a hand through his tangled curls, damp now with sweat. "Believe me."

She didn't reply, and he turned back to the punching bag, trying not to feel self-conscious as he drew up for a fresh attack.

"Your hands aren't high enough," Summer called.

"What?"

"Your hands aren't high enough." She stepped into the room, bringing her arms up in demonstration. They were noticeably higher than where Ziggy had been carrying his, and he saw that her stance was tighter, too, with elbows tucked in and shoulders rounded. "You need to defend your face. That's what they'll be aiming at."

"My hands are up," he protested.

"Right now? You're defending your collarbone."

"And just wait. That'll be the next robot Venjix creates to attack us."

She arched an eyebrow.

"Shut up," he added weakly, turning away. He could feel his energy ebbing, and rather than drawing his fists high for another round as Summer had instructed, he stepped over to the wall and sat down heavily, leaning his head back against the polished metal walls.

"What was your last rating?" Summer asked, folding her arms.

"Uh... thirty-two, I think."

"Thirty-two?"

"Yeah."

"Thirty-two."

"Yes, thirty-two," he snapped.

"Doctor K said you would only survive unmorphed in battle for thirty-two seconds?" she said, her tone disbelieving.

"That's six seconds better than last week," he said defensively.

Summer sighed, but he could hear her soft laughter as she turned and walked away.

Ziggy closed his eyes and stretched his legs out before him, resting his aching arms against his middle. The training schedule was catching up to him, that was for sure, and the last thing he needed was an audience. Lord knew he felt out of place enough without having to worry about whether Doctor K was silently watching from her viewing screens, or whether Scott, Flynn and Summer were peeking around the doorways when he wasn't paying attention. Dillon had been kind enough to help him train a few times, but sparring with him was like showing up to a knife fight with a handful of wet paper towels.

Ziggy took a deep, shaky breath. It hurt to admit it, but it was getting harder and harder to figure out what on earth he was even doing here.

Suddenly, a cool bottle of water was being pushed into his hand, and his eyes opened in surprise to find Summer crouched in front of him, smiling. "What?" she asked. "You look like you can use it."

"What are you, a cat? I didn't even hear you walk in here."

"Ninja training," she replied, grinning.

"Yeah," he laughed, cracking open the bottle and taking a deep, satisfying drink. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he glanced back up and found her still watching him, a kind smile on her face. "So... let me ask you something. How long did it take you to learn how to do this?"

"Eight years," she replied simply.

He nearly choked. "You're kidding me."

"Well, I learned it faster that that," she said, settling on the floor next to him and tucking her legs beneath her. "It just takes time to get good at it."

"At this rate I'll be good at it right around the time I'm getting Alzheimer's," Ziggy sighed, setting the bottle on the floor beside him.

Summer shook her head. "You don't give yourself enough credit, Ziggy."

He made a face and drew his knees up close to his chest, resting his arms across them. "I don't understand why it's so much easier when I'm morphed. I'm faster, I can jump higher..."

"...Better balance, stronger punches," Summer said, nodding.

"Yeah! So why don't I just plan on morphing any time I see a Venjix robot and leave it at that?"

She looked down at his outstretched arms, then reached out to tap the morpher secured to his left wrist. "What if you lose this?"

He flicked his eyebrows. "I guess that's fair."

She leaned back on her hands, studying him. "You know, you're really not that far off from where you need to be."

Ziggy snorted. "Have you seen me out there? Scott told me last week that I fight like a dairy farmer. I don't even know what that means, but I don't think it was a compliment."

Summer closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. "He's got to stop playing that video game," she muttered. "Listen, Ziggy, you don't need a fighting style. You just need to be able to fight."

"I've never been able to do that," he protested, and leaned his head back against the wall with a thunk. "I don't know if I can."

"You're already doing it," she said firmly, and when he made a face, her voice gained an edge. "Look at me. Now," she demanded, and he did. "You have the soul of a Ranger, Ziggy. What you did for those kids proved that."

He looked away quickly and began to fiddle with the water bottle beside him, rubbing at the condensation that had formed. "That wasn't anything. Anybody would have done that."

"Sure," she said, and stood in one fluid motion. "Come with me."

"Where?"

"Come on," she insisted, and he clambered to his feet. Ziggy followed her into the hallway and to an unmarked door flush against the metal wall, so slim and concealed he had barely realized it was there. She swung the door open and led him into what looked like a small base storage room, the weak lights illuminating a row of shelving and boxes along one wall. The rest of the room was lost in darkness.

He squinted. "What is this?"

Summer flipped on the overhead flood lights, and Ziggy suddenly found himself staring directly into the dead optics of a Grinder, its head lolling back grotesquely against its shoulders, throat ripped open to expose a tangle of wiring and charred cords. He leapt back, barely swallowing his shriek. Head snapping left and right, he saw there were a good half dozen of the Grinders there, most badly damaged and propped against the walls, stiffened from deactivation. "What the hell is this?"

"Doctor K had us collect these not long after the Battle of Corinth ended," she explained, walking up to the robot that had startled Ziggy and reaching out to run a finger across the damage to its neck. "It was for research."

"Research?" he stammered. "Are-- are they active?"

"No, not unless we switch them on," she said, and he inched forward, looking carefully at the broken robots. One had a shattered arm dangling uselessly at its side, and another was missing an eye, its optic sensor hanging down like a torn eye. "Doctor K was exploring whether or not they could be reprogrammed, or at least implanted with an attack virus that might give Venjix a taste of its own medicine. It hasn't worked out yet."

"These don't look like the Grinders we fought a few days ago," Ziggy said, tentatively poking at one of the robots. "They seem sort of... old."

"Yeah, these are a couple of generations removed from the models we fight now." She frowned and rapped her knuckles against the dead Grinder's head. "Flynn and I just use these for practice."

"How?"

"They're pretty easy to activate."

Ziggy stared at her, crooking an eyebrow. "You activate these things? And fight them here in the base?"

"Yeah. It's not like they're much of a challenge anymore. They've seen better days." She smiled at him, then began looking over the robots, walking from one to another, peering at each with a critical eye. "I think you ought to give it a shot."

"No, no way," he replied immediately, inching back toward the door. "I'm not going to practice on these."

"Why not? We took all the fight out of them, believe me. They can't hurt you."

He slid a skeptical glance at her. "I bet they could."

Summer smirked and stepped behind one of the Grinders, raising up on her toes to peer at the back of its neck. "Listen, you need the practice," she said, cracking open a small panel. Her fingers disappeared into the robot's innards as she spoke. "This is a safe way to do it." He heard a faint pop and a hiss, and Summer stepped back as an arc of gold light suddenly leapt from the back of the Grinder's neck and it groaned to life, eyes burning a slow, weak red and servos clanking painfully as it took a halting, awkward step forward.

"God," Ziggy muttered, and took an unconscious step back. "It's like something out of a horror movie."

"It's slow." Summer stepped around to stand in front of the Grinder, well within its reach. The robot didn't seem to realize she was there. "And it's also fried. This is a great chance for you to practice on the real thing, Ziggy. It helps to build confidence. I spent a lot of time with these things in the early days."

"It shows." She had activated the Grinder with the shattered arm, and the useless appendage twitched every few moments, jerking spasmodically. Ziggy tore his eyes from it to stare into the robot's empty gaze, and he shuddered as his mind flashed back to that day not so long ago, when he had awoken to the screams and sirens, a final and devastating warning as the Grinders lurched into his city. They were horrible and unstoppable, burning and shattering everything and everyone they came across...

...and they had looked just like this.

His mouth went dry. "I can't do it," he choked out.

Summer's gaze was cool but compassionate. "You're a Power Ranger, Ziggy. This is what you do now. Look, let me show you." She stepped away from the Grinder and settled into a fighting stance, facing Ziggy. "First, you need to move. Watch." Dipping her knees, she rolled forward onto the balls of her feet and started bobbing in place, easing herself left and right like a dancer locked to the ground.

Ziggy managed a swallow, watching her movements. "You look like a prize fighter."

"You can react faster during an attack if you're already in motion," she explained, striking out with a couple of phantom jabs. "Plus, it makes it harder for your opponent to land a shot on you."

"So, I need to... bob up and down when I fight?"

"Something like that," she said, then tucked her arms in close to her body and spun in a vicious, tight circle, lashing out with a kick so sudden and fiece that Ziggy jumped a little. "It comes with practice."

"So, are you going to aim those kicks at the Grinder or what?"

"He's all yours." She moved back, smoothing her blond hair into place and nodding at the robot. "Don't let it fool you, though. It has a little bit of fight left in it."

Ziggy nodded and took a deep breath, focusing on the robot. It seemed to notice him at the same time, head twisting to the side, and with a sudden and savage grace, it drew back its good arm and leveled a blow straight at his head. Ziggy ducked, twisting his body to the right, and was surprised when his feet seemed to suddenly take on a mind of their own, twisting beneath him and spinning him almost in a full circle. Startled, he looked down at himself as the Grinder, off-balance from the missed punch, gave a lurch and stumbled drunkenly off to the side. "What was that?"

"Your powers." Summer was watching from nearby, a wide smile on her face.

"But I'm not morphed."

"You don't have to be. Once you've bonded with your morpher, you start picking up things like that. It becomes almost like... instinct, I guess."

He nodded, furrowing his brow as the Grinder jerked upright and starting coming his way again. "Instinct, huh?"

"See where it takes you," she encouraged, and he began to circle the robot carefully, watching for an opportunity to strike. The robot lunged at him again, suddenly, and Ziggy twisted away, just barely missing the collision. He had indeed missed it, though, and he felt a shaky bit of confidence as he turned again, ducking and spinning with fluid motion, dodging the Grinder's attacks. Once, he even managed to plant a well-timed kick directly into the Grinder's chest, staggering it. He was starting to grin, impressed with his own talents, and starting to wonder...

..._Can I really do this?_

Ziggy looked up at the Grinder, a tiny smile on his lips, not noticing that his defense had slipped to collarbone level.

He realized it when the robot's shattered metal arm came swinging towards him in a drunken arc, backhanding him cleanly across the face before he could even think of defending himself. The world exploded into a searing flash of color and he flew backward, landing hard on his ass. His palms skidded painfully across the polished metal floor and he gasped for breath, pain held by bay by the shock. He could feel his body caving in on itself, dropping forward as the world looped about him lazily, and a dizzy, wet darkness encroached on the edges of his vision.

"Oh, my God!" Summer cried out from somewhere nearby, and he heard a sudden crunch of metal, like an alumnium can being flattened. A moment later, she was stirring the air in front of him, her cool hands against his cheeks. "Ziggy? Let me see you."

There was a note of panic in her voice, and only then did he realize that his hands were now covering his face, pressing in hard against the blossoming pain. He let her pry them away, and when he cracked open his eyes, he saw that his palms were smeared with bright red blood. He wondered distantly where it was coming from.

Summer's thumbs pushed against his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, and he hissed with pain. "I'm sorry... I don't think anything's broken," she said, and then reached forward to firmly pinch his nose closed between her thumb and forefinger. He winced and coughed, choking a little on the blood running down the back of his throat. "I'm sorry," she said again, her voice shaky. "It's all right." Her free hand slipped under his chin, and she gently tipped his head back. "It's just a bloody nose, I think. We'll have that under control in just a second. I hope it didn't give you a black eye, too. Oh God, I'm sorry, Ziggy. That didn't work out so well."

The pain was beginning to ebb, and he swallowed away the blood in his mouth. "It was my fault," he managed. "I didn't have my hands up. I forgot. I should've--"

"Shh, she said. "Just hold still a minute, okay?"

"I've had bloody noses before," he protested, batting weakly at her hands. "C'mon, let go."

"Ziggy--"

He pulled back from her, gently, and struggled to his feet. Summer stood quickly to help, steadying him. "You need to rest a minute."

"Activate another one."

"What? Ziggy, listen--"

He wiped his nose on his arm. "I know what I did wrong. I want to try again."

"Ziggy, you're still bleeding."

"Summer," he said flatly. "Activate another one."

She eyed him carefully, then stepped over to a Grinder that was folded into a sad, ungainly heap in the far corner. It sparked and groaned under her skillful touch, and by the time it was on its feet, as unsteady as Ziggy himself, the blood had begun to dry against Ziggy's lips and chin, crusting over. He didn't wait but stalked forward, annoyance pushing aside the fear, and he dropped low to kick the lunging robot's feet out from beneath it in a single, sweeping motion. It sprawled on the floor, and Ziggy brought his heel down, hard, driving it straight through the robot's neck. The Grinder went limp with a small gurgle, and the light in its optics winked out.

Summer broke the silence a moment later. "Holy crap."

He glanced up. "What?"

"Nothing," she replied, but she was smiling again. "That was pretty good."

"Yeah," he said, and tasted copper when he licked his lips. "It ticked me off."

She was grinning like a fool now. "I see."

"What's so funny?"

"I'm... I don't know. I'm proud of you."

He frowned. "For getting my face kicked in?"

"You're getting it," she replied, her eyes sparkling. "I knew you had the soul of a Ranger... and now you've got the spirit, too."

Ziggy ducked his head, feeling a flush creep into his cheeks at her words. "It won't do me much good if I can't fight out there."

Summer knelt down and came back up with the Grinder's head in her hand, palmed like a basketball. Ziggy blinked. "You think you can't fight?" she asked wryly. "I've got news for you, Ziggy. You can."

They were both startled by the base alarms sounding, the loud wail echoing up and down the corridors. Her eyes found his. "So... ready to prove it to the others?" she asked, and tossed the head to him. He caught it cleanly, then grimaced and let it drop to the floor, where it clattered and spun in an awkward circle on its side.

"Ready or not," Ziggy muttered, and followed her out the door.

---------------

A/N - This one was fun, and I hope you enjoyed it, too. Would you mind reviewing and letting me know?


	4. Becoming Yellow

**Author's Note**: I own nothing. This isn't much; just a missing scene from "Fade to Black" and Summer's thoughts on her place in the team.

**Becoming Yellow**

"I know that it's been hard  
And it's been a long time coming  
Don't give up on me  
I'm about to come alive"  
-- Train, "I'm About to Come Alive"

At first, it had been a good night. She'd been tucked quite peacefully between cool sheets and a beautifully soft down comforter, and her favorite PJs were like old friends, comfortable and easy against her skin. She had nodded off while reading again, and she could feel the familiar weight of a paperback against her chest as she breathed easily, resting in the gentle place between sleep and wakefulness. The light from her bedside lamp warmed her skin in a glow of easy gold. It was dark and quiet, and the world around her was at peace.

Then, the door had knocked open and Ziggy was hanging halfway in with his fingers around the doorframe, hollering something about Grinders and getting her butt out of bed before she missed all the fun.

And so it was that a good night turned into a great one.

"Summer!" Ziggy's eyes were wide, his expression impatient. "Are you coming or what? Dillon's been there for five minutes already. If we don't hurry, there won't be anything left for us but a pile of scrap metal."

"I'm coming," she replied, pushing back the bedcovers. "Am I supposed to go in pajamas?"

He stepped more fully into the doorway, and she could barely smother the laughter that bubbled up when she saw his mismatched socks, battered red shorts and oversized New York Yankees T-shirt. "We do what we have to do," he said wryly.

She grinned at him. It didn't seem all that long ago that she had been standing in Colonel Truman's office, gripping the edge of his desk and staring with uncomprehending eyes at the schematics and body scans that overlapped each other there, each one more frightening than the last. "His name is Dillon, first of all," the colonel had said, his voice flat and unimpressed. "At least, that's what he's calling himself. We confirmed through a NX-8 resonance scan that he is suffering from complete retrograde amnesia."

"That's convenient," Flynn had snorted from somewhere behind her.

"We were skeptical at first, too," the Colonel admitted. "It appears that his memories are being suppressed, but how and by what, we don't know. He's convinced that he's supposed to find someone, and he's been searching for this person for about two weeks outside of the city. He doesn't remember anything before waking up in the front seat of that car of his, with that mission stuck in his head." The Colonel turned back to the display screen. "As you can see, we found Venjix upgrades inside of him, which was immediately concerning. My fear was that he was an attack drone himself sent to infiltrate the city, but Dr. K tells me that isn't possible."

"How do you know?" Scott had asked. He, too, sounded suspicious.

"The technology inside of this individual is restricted to the body, not the mind," Dr. K replied evenly from the computer screen fastened against the far wall. "He was designed to be a solider, not a robot. Also, the technology is Generation Three, so he's been on the shelf for a while. Based on my research, I believe he was a failed experiment that Venjix discarded after wiping his mind."

"Do you think... could he be a candidate for Ranger Black?" Summer had asked. "I mean, I know he's not the ideal choice..."

"Far from it," the Colonel replied dryly. "It's Dr. K's call, of course, but without knowing his background or his motivations, I wouldn't trust the technology to him. Besides, he's not an easy individual to get along with. For someone who can only remember two weeks of his life, he's got an attitude that won't fit through the door."

"Just what we need," Scott had snorted.

"Well, what about the kid who came in with him?" Summer asked. "What's his story?"

The Colonel sank back down into his chair with a sigh. "That's Ziggy Grover. Apparently, Dillon found him outside of the city and Mr. Grover was kind enough to show him the way here. He's a Corinth citizen, so how he managed to end up outside the shields is anybody's guess. He's not been very forthcoming about how that came to pass." The Colonel rubbed his eyes. "Seventeen years old. Can you believe that? Seventeen, and the kid's already got a rap sheet longer than a double roll of Charmin."

"THAT guy?" Scott had said in disbelief. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, I am," his father replied. "He hasn't done anything violent or hurt anyone, but in the last year he's managed to find himself in the middle of almost every dust-up we've had with those cartels. He runs with a terrible crowd. Apparently he recently took all five cartels for almost five million dollars, which I assume was the reason he got out of Corinth in the first place."

"Five million dollars?" Flynn had repeated. "A kid who couldn't fight his way out of a Girl Scout meeting managed to steal five million from the mob?"

"What did he think he was going to do with that money?" Scott had demanded. "It's not like there are a lot of places outside Corinth to spend it."

"I have no idea," the Colonel said. "But suffice to say, I don't think you've found your Ranger operator in either of those two."

Blinking back into reality, Summer caught Ziggy's impatient gaze and sprang out of bed, her socked feet sliding a little against the polished concrete. "I'm coming, I'm coming. Don't wait for me."

"Are you kidding?" he snorted, and darted out of her field of vision. "You're my ride!"

There were a lot of things that Summer held dear in her life, but none was quite so precious to her as being a Ranger. It was happenstance, she knew; it had never been meant for a person like her, but she was determined to live up to the responsibility that Dr. K had laid upon her shoulders that Wednesday afternoon in May. Like Ziggy and Dillon, she was a fighter now, trained to protect and as determined as her friends to wash her hands clean of the indulgence, mistakes and screwups that had consumed all of them before Venjix. That, perhaps, was why she felt so close to them; why she took Ziggy under her wing during training and felt his every bruise as her own, and why the pain she sometimes caught in Dillon's eyes struck to her soul. Like her, they were seeking a chance to redo the puzzles of their pasts, and find redemption somewhere in the shambles of humanity. This was their fresh start.

Ziggy was waiting for her at the top of the stairs, arms crossed impatiently. When her eyes caught his, however, the annoyance faded, and the smile he offered up was genuine.

So was hers.

* * *

**Next up** in this continuing series: "Skin and Bones," in which a battle doesn't go according to plan and Flynn takes it upon himself to help Ziggy. He winds up with more than he bargained for. Keep in mind, reviews make my fingers type faster, so please let me know if you're enjoying these and would like to see the mini-stories continue. Thanks!


	5. Skin and Bones, pt 1

Author's Note: As usual, I don't own this playground, but you can find me upside-down on the jungle gym when Disney isn't looking. This episode takes place after "Ranger Blue" and before the plot revelations of "Blitz" and "Brother's Keeper." I have more than a drabble to share with this one, but since it does take place in the "Not Easy Being Green" universe, I'm posting it here and breaking it into three parts. The second part of this story is finished but will not be posted until Saturday – RPM is in reruns this weekend, so hopefully that will give you a little something to look forward to instead of just watching "The Road to Corinth" again… not that that's a bad thing! Anyway, enjoy.

Summary: A battle doesn't exactly go according to plan, and one Ranger is forced to put his life on the line.

**Skin and Bones, pt. 1**

"If you fall, stumble down, I'll pick you up off the ground  
If you lose faith in you, I'll give you strength to pull through  
Tell me you won't give up  
'Cause I'll be waiting if you fall"  
-- Simple Plan, "Save You"

"…up to my ankles in quicksand! They all thought I was crazy, but by God, we had to get through somehow, and I figured I weigh a lot less than a jeep, you know what I mean?" Flynn waved his hand around to emphasize the point, his eyes wide, deep into the story. "So I just kept one eye out for the anacondas--"

"Anacondas?" Scott repeated.

"Yeah! They're everywhere down there, you know. So anyway, I plunged right in. I've seen worse mud puddles in Renfrewshire Square anyway…"

"Okay, I call that one," Dillon interrupted. He was sprawled on the floor in the common area of the garage, leaning back against the couch and looking as relaxed as Ziggy had ever seen him. Dillon's proximity to Summer, who was curled into the cushions behind him with her knees occasionally brushing against his hair, might have had something to do with that, but Ziggy was notoriously bad at picking up on that sort of thing anyway so he'd shrugged it off. The important thing was that Dillon was smiling, and the faint lines of tension and worry that had become almost a permanent feature were gone, replaced with a knowing expression as he dug a crumpled bill out of his pocket and threw it in the general direction of the coffee table. "I'll buy the snakes, but that can't be a real place."

Flynn, who had been standing next to the television and gesturing at the vistas painted by a rerun of "Discovering Africa," paused and fixed his bright gaze on Dillon. "Ready to lose more money, then? Zig, what are the stakes?"

Ziggy leaned forward from where he was perched on the arm of the couch, retrieving the bill from where it had landed inside an empty Jungle Karma Pizza box. "Uh… looks like a dollar this time."

Flynn's eyebrows arched. "Such a high roller."

"Prove it," Dillon challenged. "I think you pulled that name, not to mention this whole story of yours, straight out of your--"

"He's right," Scott chimed in. He was draped over the opposite couch, taking up more than his fair share of it now since Ziggy had channel-surfed onto PBS and Flynn had leapt up to regale the group with war stories from his brief stint in the Congo. "I made him show me that place in an atlas once. It's real."

"Ha," Flynn added, and stepped around the coffee table to snap the dollar bill out of Ziggy's hand. "I'm getting rich off you, lad."

"Six dollars is not rich," Dillon protested.

"Every little bit helps."

Ziggy grinned.

Downtime. There wasn't a sweeter thing in the world.

It had all been Scott's idea, since Venjix had been radio-silent for over a week and nobody wanted to stray too far from home base, just in case. What had started as a quiet evening of carryout in front of the television had now devolved into a hangout session into its third hour, with no signs of slowing down. The coffee table was littered with dirty napkins and empty soda cans, and they had eaten so much pizza they could barely move, though Flynn and Summer still found the energy to fight over the remote control. There wasn't much original programming on TV anymore, but the reruns were plentiful, and they had argued for twenty minutes over TV Land's "I Love Lucy" marathon and a run of "Law & Order" episodes before Scott finally pulled rank and went for TV Land, complaining that everyone had already memorized the Law & Order crap twenty years ago anyway. The conversation had disintegrated from there, wandering from favorite TV shows to the Speed channel to Dillon's car, which had undergone a messy oil change the day before when Scott decided to lend his opinions on that subject as well. From there, it was on to Summer's bike, then her hair, then Ziggy's hair, then Flynn's surefire Scottish remedy for eliminating tangles. Dillon's challenge against Flynn's knowledge of all things hair care had led them down the path to their current exchange, where Dillon's laughter was mingling with Scott's as Flynn swore up and down he'd grown up on a street called Balleul-en-Vimeu.

"You guys are crazy," Summer said with a chuckle, twisting to stretch out across the couch.

"I'll give you all six of these dollars back if you can spell it, Dillon," Flynn challenged. "C'mon. I want to hear you spell it."

"No way. I can't even pronounce your crazy Scottish words."

"It's French!"

"Why do you have French names in Scotland?"

Flynn planted his hands on his hips. "Your name is Welsh, but I don't think you grew up next door to me, now did you?"

"Flynn is an Irish name," Scott pointed out.

Dillon craned his neck to glance over. "How do you know that?"

"I looked it up."

"That's creepy, Scott."

"I'm still waiting for somebody to spell Balleul-en-Vimeu!" Flynn yelled, and it was all Ziggy could do to keep from laughing.

It had been a few months, now, since the mess with Fresno Bob had been sorted out and Ziggy had truly become part of the team. Doc K had explained in her usual blunt fashion the truth behind what had gone on with him and the Scorpion cartel, and perhaps the others had noticed the furious heat that had risen in Ziggy's cheeks as she went on about medical supplies and the four lonely days he had spent in the wasteland, because no one had brought it up to him since. Summer had wrapped him in a single, long hug afterwards, and Scott had clapped him on the back, and there wasn't much else that needed to be said after that. After all, there wasn't a one of them who hadn't lost or sacrificed in the three endless years since Venjix began taking over. He had dreaded the awkwardness that might come if they felt the need to congratulate him on a bravery or selflessness that he knew very well he didn't deserve to be singled out for. They were all brave, in this room.

And so he was one of them, just like that, and it took no time at all to become wrapped firmly into their family. Even now, he found the speed with which they welcomed him remarkable, and it still surprised him every time Scott popped into the training room to make sure he hadn't knocked himself silly, or when Dillon let him tag along on the midnight drives he felt compelled to take every once in a while. Flynn was even teaching him how to cook, and arguing with the Series Blue ranger afterwards over who was responsible for getting the spaghetti off the ceiling was almost as fun as learning how to use the oven.

It was a place, finally, where he belonged.

As if that wasn't good enough, he was actually getting better at fighting. There were still plenty of things to learn -- he was hopelessly behind the others and always would be -- but Dillon had taught him how to throw a punch, and the more practice time he logged in the simulators, the easier it became to spin and parry, working with the incredible surges of power that the suit provided to move just a little faster and strike just a little harder, every time. At the moment, he and Summer were actually missing their standing Wednesday night practice session, but he didn't mind. This--

"Haggis is completely edible!"

Well, this was worth missing a month of training.

Ziggy nudged Summer's socked feet out of the way and slid off the arm of the couch, plopping down into the corner opposite her. She watched him with faint amusement. "Any idea where the doc is?" he asked, raising his voice a little to be heard over the din of Flynn, Scott and Dillon talking loudly over top of each other.

Summer stuck a finger in her ear. "I think she's in the lab," she hollered back. "Why?"

"I was thinking we could invite her to join us. I mean, I know she's not a big fan of cold pizza, but she could do with a little social time."

With a skeptical eye, Summer glanced over at the others. "This might actually scar her for life, don't you think?"

Ziggy laughed. Doc K certainly wasn't the life of the party, but Ziggy had come to appreciate the cold exterior she had fixed over herself, and he thought he might even understand it, in a way. He had a feeling she wasn't nearly the shrew she presented herself to be. Besides, even if she did truly hate him, he'd never let that stop him from making a friend before.

With that thought in mind, Ziggy was about to stand and go in search of her when the klaxons blared, screeching over the noise of the argument and making him jump. Scott groaned loudly, rolling off the couch, and Dillon stood, stretching his stiff muscles. "Just what I was waiting for," he said wryly.

Flynn elbowed him in the ribs. "Consider yourself lucky. There's no telling how much money I would've made off you yet."

Summer placed her hands flat against their backs. "Move it," she ordered, and they slowly made their way into the eerie glow of the lab, where Doctor K was standing with her back to them, fingers flying over a pair of keyboards.

"So, Venjix finally decided to rear that ugly head, huh?" Scott asked, folding his arms as he stepped up behind her. "Shield breach?"

"More like shield undercut," she said, glancing back over her shoulder. She did a double-take at the pillow lines creasing Scott's cheek. "Were you asleep?"

"No," he replied. "Relaxing."

Her narrow gaze cut across the five of them. "What have you been up to out there?"

"Uh… team bonding," Flynn replied with a smile.

She eyed them, then turned away with a huff. "I'm tracking a possible infiltration, located in the southeastern quadrant of the city. It's down at the old Highway 39 interchange," she added, shooting a meaningful look back at Summer, who nodded seriously.

"What is that?" Dillon asked.

"It used to be the main road in and out of Corinth," Summer replied. "It's an abandoned area, now. If Venjix is launching an attack, it'll take at least twenty minutes to get there."

"We'd better get going then," Flynn said, moving toward the vehicle bay.

"Wait!" Doctor K exclaimed, her voice shrill and stopping them in their tracks. She was leaning even closer to her monitors now, eyes flashing across the scrolling data. "I'm picking up the presence of three of the known Venjix generals," she said tensely. "Crunch, Shifter, and Tenaya 7. I'm also picking up grinders and an attack bot of unknown generational technology."

"Are the shields compromised?" Scott asked.

"Not at present… it appears they've managed to bypass the seismic sensors and tunnel underneath again. Rangers, I am reading sizable ordinance here."

"Well, we can use that to blow them up," Flynn shrugged. "Let's go."

"I want you to be careful with this attack bot," Doctor K insisted, turning to face them. Her expression was pinched and concerned. "The nucleosynthesis readings I'm getting are off the charts."

Dillon heaved a sigh. "What does that even mean, Doc?"

"These levels suggest a robot capable of a very powerful energy attack, on the same level as what you create when you use your bio-energy fields," she explained. "This might be the next generation of Venjix technology."

"Fantastic," Scott muttered, and Ziggy saw the worry pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"I've never seen anything like it," Doc K said, spinning back to her computer monitors. "I'll continue the analysis from here, but the five of you had better deploy now. There's no telling what this attack might consist of. Be careful, Rangers."

"We're on it," Summer said confidently. Moments later they were revving the engines of their vehicles, screaming out into the fading golden sunlight of the day.

Ziggy slid into the passenger seat of Dillon's car and held on to the doorframe as Dillon pushed the accelerator to the floor, roaring out in hot pursuit of Scott with Flynn and Summer close behind. Ziggy reached automatically for the glove compartment, retrieving a pair of grape lollipops and passing one to Dillon. He accepted it with a smile, but Ziggy could see the nagging concern in his face, too. "You okay?" he asked.

Dillon nodded, discarding the lollipop's plastic wrapping and popping it into his mouth. "Fine," he said, and didn't speak again until they had reached the interstate, rarely traveled now since Corinth had so few cars. "How's the training coming?"

"Good," Ziggy replied. "I'll have you know I killed seventeen grinders in simulation yesterday." He beamed at the memory.

Dillon nodded, slurping at the lollipop. "Why not eighteen?"

"I'm only human, Dillon." He smirked and twirled the sucker against his tongue. "I got killed after the seventeenth one."

Dillon shot him an apprehensive side glance, which Ziggy caught out of the corner of his eye. "What?" he asked defensively. "That's pretty good for me."

"Listen, do me a favor, would you?"

"What?"

Dillon glanced in the rearview mirror, then switched lanes, following the cloud of dust and gravel thrown up by Scott's wheels. "Stay close."

"Stay close? To what?"

"Me. Us."

Ziggy frowned. "Seriously?"

"I don't know what we're in for here," Dillon replied. His voice was flat and serious. "Doctor K was nervous about this one."

"So?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but when the doc gets nervous, I get nervous."

Ziggy shrugged, propping his elbow against the windowframe. "I'm always nervous."

Following the coordinates Doctor K had provided, they arrived at the scene moments later. The highway, once a sprawling eight-lane interstate, had now become an asphalt expanse that was dirty and overgrown with weeds. It ended abruptly just fifty feet ahead, where the road had been blasted apart and the concrete cleared to make way for the Corinth shield. Sliding out of Dillon's car, Ziggy gaped up at it, arching thousands of feet up over their heads. The holograms held true even this close, and a peaceful expanse of meadow beneath blue clouds was projected before them, stretching out endlessly. It looked, he realized, quite a bit like a Windows XP desktop – pixilated edges and all.

Summer jogged up to stand next to them, yanking off her helmet and tossing it inside Dillon's car. "There," she said, and they followed her eyes to a wide hole in the earth beside the highway, loose dirt piled around it on all sides. "That must be where they tunneled through."

"And where exactly are they?" Scott asked, frowning at the shield. "I don't see--"

"Down there," Ziggy interrupted. A short distance away, the grinders were lurching around eagerly at the base of the shield, their silver body armor reflecting the hologram and making them almost indistinguishable from the bright blues and greens of the horizon. They were laying small devices down where the shield met the earth, and the lumbering forms of Crunch and Shifter were nearby, observing. "Some of them, anyway."

The Venjix generals spotted them at about the same time. They were too far away to hear the conversation between the two, but actions spoke louder than words when Shifter drew a long and glimmering sword, using it to point in their direction.

"Let's go, Rangers," Scott said, his voice low and determined.

Ziggy fell into position beside Flynn, reaching for his morpher. "Where do you think the rest of them are?" he whispered.

Flynn smirked at him. "I'm sure we'll find out."

Seconds later, with their "Get in gear" battle cry still echoing across the empty highway, the five rangers were morphed and charging forward, running at full tilt into the battle that awaited them. Ziggy would never admit it, but this was actually one of his favorite parts of being a ranger. He loved the feel of the protective energy tight around him, and he loved the courage that rose in him anew every time the power sweetened the blood in his veins.

The grinders met them halfway and immediately scattered, attacking in waves as they had been programmed. Ziggy saw General Shifter go immediately after Scott, crossing swords and pushing him back, while Flynn was darting around General Crunch, using his natural speed and agility to stay a step ahead of the boxy robot. Dillon and Summer were mowing down grinders as quickly as they approached, and Ziggy handled the ones that were left, expertly ducking their blows and snapping back with precise punches and kicks that dropped the robots like paper dolls. He didn't always have such luck with the grinders, but it wasn't a big deal when the others were with him to help take on a chunk of the fight, and he pressed forward, grinning inside his helmet when two of the clanky robots smashed drunkenly into each other.

"Ziggy!" Dillon called. He was a short distance away, grinder-free but falling in beside Flynn now as General Crunch leered at the pair of them. "Check those devices at the shield's base!"

"Got it," he called back, and turned to the looming shield. He jogged toward it, but slowed abruptly as he drew closer. The energy of the shield was palpable, thickening the air and leaving a thin metallic taste in his mouth. He could feel the hairs on his arms stand up, and he swallowed and edged as close as he could, careful to keep some distance between him and the shimmering panels. If they could put off that much energy while he was still a good three feet away, he didn't want to know what would happen if he drew close enough to touch.

Dropping to one knee, Ziggy reached out to grasp one of the small metal devices that the grinders had settled into the ground. Even without the exposed wires, the boxes clearly contained explosives, but their display screens were blank and he could tell immediately that they were not yet primed for detonation. "Thank goodness," he muttered.

A strange clanking sound distracted him, and he looked up.

Standing just feet in front of Ziggy was the ugliest attack robot he had ever seen. It was squat and short, with a mouthful of crooked teeth and sharp, nasty eyes that rolled lazily in their generous sockets. Ziggy jumped up but was immediately driven down by the proximity of the shield, pushed low by the thrumming energy. He moved away quickly until he could stand, and he brought his hands in front of him, anticipating the attack that would surely…

…well, surely it would have come by now, right?

Ziggy lowered his arms a fraction, frowning at the creature. The attack bot hadn't followed him or even made a single move in his direction. Instead, it stood just where he had first seen it next to the shield, slurping in ragged breaths. As Ziggy watched cautiously, it clasped its hands together and then drew them slowly apart, revealing a small and glistening red sphere floating peacefully there. The object was no bigger than a golf ball, and it twirled easily with no concern for gravity, twinkling between the robot's hands with tiny bits of orange and yellow buried deep in its core. Ziggy eyed the energy ball, then lifted his eyes to the attack bot's face. The robot slurped again and tilted its heavy head to the left, watching him intently.

"Uh… hey there, little guy," Ziggy said. "That's a pretty… thing you got there."

The creature did not respond, but instead rolled its odd eyes to the right as Ziggy watched. The tiny ball of energy continued to twist in the shelter of its hands. "Um… I take it you're new at this, right? You're supposed to shoot that at me, you know."

The attack bot blinked and slowly lowered its head to peer at the tiny sphere, and Ziggy rolled his eyes. "Back to the drawing board, Venjix," he muttered. "You might want to put some intelligence circuitry into your next generation of critters."

Careful to keep the attack bot in sight just in case, Ziggy turned back to the battlefield. Scott was slowly getting the upper hand on Shifter, forcing him back toward the highway, and Summer and Flynn had become blurs of gold and blue, slicing their way through the grinders. Dillon was the closest to him, locked up with Crunch and using the handle of his rocket blaster to clobber the robot across the face. "Dillon!" Ziggy called. "We've got some time. They haven't set the charges yet."

Dillon turned in his direction, and although the helmets prevented Ziggy from seeing his face, there was no mistaking the horror that suddenly rippled through Dillon's body. In an instant, he had dropped his weapon carelessly to the ground and surged forward towards Ziggy, stopped only by Crunch's powerful arm locking across his chest.

Perplexed, Ziggy took a step back as Dillon gripped at Crunch's arm, barely aware of the robot. Dillon reached forward, struggling in the general's grip and stretching a single, desperate hand in Ziggy's direction. "Ziggy!" he screamed. "Look out!"

Moving with a speed he didn't realize he possessed, Ziggy snapped back around to face the attack bot. The orb of energy it clutched was now as big as a basketball, and he didn't even have time to gasp before it was flying directly at his face.


	6. Skin and Bones, pt 2

Author's Note: I own no characters or copyrights. This story fits neatly between "Ranger Blue" and "Blitz," for those of you playing along at home. Also, please be aware that there is some pretty serious Ranger whomping that takes place in this portion of the story. It wasn't my intention going in to beat them up quite so badly, but I suppose if we accept that these characters have a serious job with potentially dangerous consequences, there is a place for it. And, truth be told, it's not really my fault anyway. The RPM team took this story out of my hands and wrote it themselves, so please place all blame at the feet of dastardly Tenaya 7 and her crew. We will conclude, eventually, in part 3.

Read on…

**Skin and Bones, pt. 2**

One of the things – the many things, if he looked back on his childhood honestly – that Ziggy had never been very good at was baseball. He didn't have the strength of the other kids and he didn't have the coordination, and maybe it was just him on this last one, but he didn't have the first idea what was so appealing about the sport, either. He could find a thousand better uses for his time if left to his own devices, yet somehow every summer he wound up sweating in the outfield, up to his knees in crabgrass and squinting at a home plate so far away he could barely make it out. It was a boring game, full of miserable itches and hot sun, and the only thing he managed to do with any grace at all was to get the hell out of the way when baseballs came flying at him. It was a skill he had down to a science, much to the chagrin of his coach.

Who would have ever thought it would save his life?

As quickly as the blazing fireball flew from the monster's hands, Ziggy curled his body forward and dropped to the ground, intending to cower there much as he had done in seventh grade when the star batter of the Oakville Falcons had sent a line drive screaming at his head. Instead, the suit seemed to take over for him, nimbly converting his dodge into a tumble that got all important body parts out of the line of fire. He ended up on his back in the dust, propped up on his elbows, and his vision cleared just in time to see the fireball impact a wayward grinder. The robot's metal body glimmered and cracked for a fraction of a second, then shattered in a violent explosion, sending fragments of shrapnel whizzing into the shield and ricocheting off everyone in proximity. When the smoky air cleared a few heartbeats later, there was nothing left but a steaming pile of metal parts and one sad little optic, spinning clear of the debris to land facedown in the dust.

"Holy crap," Ziggy breathed, and pressed the communicator on his wrist as he pulled himself awkwardly to his knees. "Doc, did you read that?"

"Confirmed," she replied quickly over the link, her voice interrupted by hisses of static. "The energy attack released by that robot registered a 22.8 on the Bonne impact scale."

"Ziggy, you okay?" Dillon called. He was tangled up with Crunch again but twisting back to look anxiously towards him, even as the general bore down with a vicious assault.

"I've got him," another voice called, and Ziggy saw Flynn working his way over, slicing down grinders left and right with tight spins and precise strikes. "Doc, I'm glad you're getting lots of interesting readings out of this, but what exactly are we dealing with here?"

"A serious problem," she snapped back. "The Bonne impact scale measures damage quotients and relative survivability per strike. A 22.8 equates to a fifty-nine percent chance of fatal injury on impact."

"Excuse me?" Scott said sharply. He was halfway across the battlefield, all the way back toward the highway, but his voice rang clear inside Ziggy's helmet. "Did you say fatal?"

"Affirmative, Rangers. You need to be very careful to avoid these attacks."

"You don't say," Flynn replied dryly, and reached down to grab Ziggy by the arm, pulling him back to his feet. "You all right?"

"Fine," he replied, but Flynn had already spun away, lifting his forearms to catch the blunt-force attacks of two grinders striking with long, spear-shaped weapons. He wasted no time in kicking them neatly backwards, one after the other. Ziggy took that split second to breathe, and he turned back to the monster, hands curling into fists in anticipation of whatever might come next. He would think about just how close he'd come to getting fried later, when he was back at the base and safe within its steel walls. For now, he just had to focus on the task at hand, and…

Ziggy blinked at the empty space where the robot had stood, just seconds before.

Well, maybe he would need to find the thing before he tried to blow it up.

But before Ziggy could entertain another thought, a powerful hand closed around his throat. He choked and reflexively reached up, grabbing at the slender arm that held him fast. Tenaya 7 was standing in front of him in all her sleek armored glory, face twisted into a wicked snarl. Even through the protection of his suit, he could feel his windpipe closing, as her powerful fingers curled into hooks and pressed deeply into the sides of his neck. "I am getting very tired of the five of you," she hissed, jerking him closer, and he had just a moment to blink stupidly at his own reflection in her visor before she threw him backwards, clear off his feet and straight into the base of the Corinth shield.

Ziggy struck the shield panels with his right shoulder, and though Tenaya hadn't thrown him hard enough to cause any real injury, he could tell immediately that something was wrong. He knew well the feeling of power that came when he was morphed, like a sudden caffeine dump into his veins, but the new and dangerous energy of the shields he'd just crashed into felt like six cans of Red Bull chugged in succession. The overload of power was wrapping around him like a sickness, squeezing the breath from his lungs. He could feel it snaking through the infrastructure of his suit, blowing circuits and causing a painful, high-pitched screech inside his helmet as it went. Held fast by the arcing power, he slid slowly and awkwardly down the shield's face to land in a pile at its base, pinned against the panels and wincing as sparks of snapping energy jolted him where he lay.

A loud crash from somewhere above startled him, and though he couldn't turn his head quite fast enough to figure out what was going on, it became clear soon enough as Flynn slid down the shield next to him, trembling as the same electric interference that was holding Ziggy fast tangled around his own body. Gritting his teeth, Ziggy tried to pull away, but the humming energy held him fast, creating a painfully tight grip.

Standing before them, Tenaya put on a saucy grin before glancing back over her shoulder. The attack bot had materialized behind her, bouncing up and down a little as though overtaken by the excitement of the evening. "Necroxis!" she snapped. "Now!"

The attack bot toddled forward, and as Tenaya stepped away, Ziggy watched in sick fascination as another fireball formed between its hands, spinning with an alluring but insidious glow. Flynn tried to jerk loose from the shield, but it snapped him back like a magnet. "Guys!" he hollered. "We could use a hand!"

"I'm here!" Summer replied immediately, her voice far too cheerful for their predicament. Seconds later, her zip charger was airborne in a shower of sparks and brilliant yellow light, crashing into the back of Necroxis' neck with staggering force. The little creature stumbled forward, and his fireball launched abruptly, impacting the shield a few feet to the right of where Flynn and Ziggy were tangled. The strike caused an eruption of energy that Ziggy felt building at his back just moments before it exploded outward, launching him in the air like a bullet from a gun and throwing both of them free of the shield's grip. He and Flynn landed face-down in the dirt almost ten feet away, sprawled amidst the broken remains of grinders already cut down in the battle.

Groaning, Ziggy got his arms underneath him again, rising up carefully to his hands and knees. His body ached from top to bottom, and the nimble power he had become so used to now felt thick and sluggish around him. "Okay," he muttered. "THAT sucked."

Beside him, Flynn peeled himself off the ground, his movements slow and somewhat dazed. "Yeah, this isn't going at all like I thought it would."

A sudden screech of interference cut through their communicators, and they both winced as Doctor K's faint voice broke through, nearly swallowed by static. "Series Blue and Series Green, report! Are you all right?"

"I think so," Flynn said, shaking his head a little as though to clear the scratchy audio. "We're better now than we were a second ago, at least."

"What happened? The energy readings from your suits are all over the place, and I'm reading damage to the shields in quadrant 44."

"Yeah," Flynn said, getting his feet beneath him as he twisted to check on Tenaya and Necroxis. The monster had fallen back again, still twittering in place, while Tenaya was engaged in hand-to-hand combat with Summer. "Well, that's because we just got thrown into the shields."

"And almost cooked," Ziggy added.

"Stand by," Doctor K ordered. "There's clearly been a disruption – I think your suits may have been overloaded. I need to run an analysis and clean up this ratty data to see what we're dealing with."

"Well, go ahead," Flynn said, "but we're not going to be able to wait for you."

"Stand by," she insisted.

With a snort, Flynn cut the communication off.

"What do we do now?" Ziggy asked, wobbling to his feet and pressing a hand against the side of his helmet to soothe his aching head.

"Oh… I think we'll find something to occupy us." He struck a defensive stance even as he spoke, and Ziggy caught Tenaya 7 rocketing towards them from the corner of his eye. Forgetting his aches and pains, he thought fast, dropping to one knee and seizing the staff weapon of the fallen grinder at his side. He brought it up with two hands, deflecting Tenaya's strike and swinging the weapon deftly to one side to throw her off balance. Flynn jumped immediately into the opening, and Tenaya wheeled expertly to fight them both, her dark hair flying. She cleaved Ziggy's metal staff weapon in half a moment later, and he noticed then that she had a jagged piece of metal clenched in her right fist. It was dagger-shaped but looked suspiciously like the remains of a grinder, and he was about to point it out to Flynn when she spun towards him and raked the weapon towards his neck. He flung up his arm to deflect it, twisting clear of her. His knees buckled suddenly from an impact behind him and he hit the ground hard, looking back to see another grinder behind him. "How many of these things does Venjix have?" he complained, and quickly snapped off a kick, catching the robot in the gut and sending it flying.

"Too many," Dillon replied, stepping into Tenaya's line of fire. Flynn backed off to catch his breath as Dillon went on the offensive, driving Tenaya back with a series of powerful strikes.

Ziggy took advantage of the brief respite to steady himself, pressing the heels of his hands against the ground and closing his eyes. He still felt dazed and half a step slow, as though he'd just been shaken out of a deep sleep. His arm was burning, too, where Tenaya had struck him, and that was different – normally such impacts to his armor just gave him a little electric zap to his skin, and that was all. Even the Gopher Bot's attack just after he became the Series Green Ranger, which had been so vicious that it knocked him off his feet and sent up a shower of sparks that made his chest look like the Fourth of July, hadn't lingered like this. He opened his eyes—

--and froze when he saw drops of blood on the ground beneath him.

Quickly, Ziggy sat back, ignoring his lingering dizziness to turn his wrist and check the burning ache across his forearm. Much to his shock, the suit was gashed open there, and the nanofibers of his armor were stained dark with blood. He swallowed hard, stumbling to his feet and backing away from the battle. "Flynn!" he called when he found his voice. "Flynn, I have a problem!"

He wasn't sure when Flynn came to his side. His eyes were glued to the wound, and a moment later he heard Flynn screeching at Doctor K through their communicators, his voice a half-octave higher than normal. "Doc, what in bloody hell is going on with our suits? That witch Tenaya just cut right through them!"

To the doc's credit, she responded immediately. "You two, back down now," she snapped, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Your armor has been severely compromised. According to my readings your field attacks are offline, and I'm reading your shielding at 22 percent and dropping. I want you both out of there, right now!"

"Flynn, do it!" Scott yelled. Their battle had worked its way back to the interstate now, and Ranger Series Red was standing on top of the highway divider, flashing his sword at Shifter to hold him at bay. Summer was nearby, finishing off the last of the grinders, and Dillon was slowly but inexorably pushing Tenaya away from the shields and escape tunnel. Crunch had apparently already escaped, as there was no sign of him at all, and Ziggy caught the tail end of Necroxis disappearing after him, wiggling down into the tunnel's depths.

Wrapping his left hand around the stinging wound tightly, Ziggy turned to Flynn, who was still staring at his communicator as though trying to process what he'd heard. "We can't stop," he said anxiously. "What if they need us?"

Flynn looked up, and he nodded, slow and deliberate. "Well, the good news is, I don't think there's much left to do. But can you handle this?"

"I've had paper cuts worse," he scoffed, but the response was automatic, and he wondered for a single, frenzied second where on earth his bravado was coming from. The worst of it might be over, but they weren't done, and their suits had become about as useful as an extra sweater. He could feel the fear, slick and cool in the pit of his stomach, and the energy that normally held him in such a sure, easy embrace felt fractured and threadbare now. But if Flynn felt the same way, he didn't show it; instead, Series Blue simply shook his head with a chuckle and turned towards Scott and Summer, moving slowly back to the fight.

Ziggy closed his eyes, tightening his grip around the bleeding cut on his arm. He needed to find the strength inside, somewhere, to do the same. This was the challenge, and he had to rise up to it, pushing past the confusion and the uncertainty. Now was the time to show what Ranger Series Green was truly—

Something clobbered him across the back for the second time in as many minutes, and for what had to be the tenth time in that fight alone, Ziggy hit the dirt. The impact jarred his bones and rattled his teeth, and he realized now with dawning certainty that his suit was probably not even holding at twenty-two percent. He felt like he was back in third grade at Emerson Elementary, getting up-ended by bullies on the playground. A boot sank into the soft dust next to his hand next, but it was black instead of the gunmetal gray that he had expected. "Did you just kick me?" Ziggy hollered, aghast.

Dillon sighed and took out a grinder with an effortless strike, gesturing at it as it fell. "That's what kicked you."

"Oh," Ziggy muttered. "Well, sorry. I'm getting my ass kicked so many different ways I'm having trouble keeping track."

"It happens," Dillon replied, and he could hear the grin in his voice.

"You need to help Flynn," Ziggy added, waving a hand over his head in Flynn's general direction. "His suit—"

"I heard. What about you?"

Ziggy struggled up into a seated position, bending forward at the waist to catch a bit more air into his lungs. He was drained and hurting, but the battle was winding down around them, and the worst seemed over. "I'll make it," he replied breathlessly. "Seventeen grinders in simulation, remember? UNmorphed."

He could almost see Dillon's smirk behind the helmet. "Stay put," he warned, before he turned to jog back toward the others.

_No problem there._ Taking a second to center himself, Ziggy reached out to grip at the still-twitching body of the grinder next to him, using it to drag himself back to his feet. Scott and Summer were still at the highway, their backs to him, and they appeared to have Shifter and Tenaya 7 well in hand. Flynn had stopped a short distance away from Ziggy, watching with his hands on his hips, and Dillon clapped him on the back as he passed, heading back into the action. The sun was setting, casting a slant of light across them that lit the battlefield in warm, clear shades of gold, and it might have been a late-day training exercise, relaxed and low-key, except for the dozens of grinders whose broken parts littered the ground and twinkled against the setting sun.

A strange clanking sound distracted him, and with a sinking heart, Ziggy turned to glance hesitantly, fearfully, over his shoulder.

Necroxis had popped his ugly head out of the tunnel, and he was leaning forward on his elbows, grinning maniacally in Ziggy's direction. Cupped in his hands was another fireball, glimmering with barely concealed heat.

"Hey," Ziggy said, and raised his hands in front of him, rolling to his feet and stepping back cautiously. "Whoa, little guy. Can't we, uh, talk about this…?"

The robot's grin widened, and Ziggy gripped at his morpher desperately, pressing down the combination to teleport himself somewhere, anywhere. But the buttons were dead under his fingers, and nothing happened – not even a flicker of power. His energy levels had dropped so low, in fact, that he could barely even see the readouts inside of his helmet.

Taking another step back, Ziggy stumbled and fell flat on his butt as the fireball grew larger. Necroxis clicked with excitement, and as the sphere burned a brilliant, furious red, Ziggy lifted his hands to shield his face as best he could, and tucked his body up tightly, bringing his shoulders up in a defensive clench. Maybe he would get lucky, he thought desperately, and some forgotten reserve of power would kick in to get him the hell out of there. Maybe he would get lucky, and the monster would miss.

Maybe he would get lucky and the damn thing would at least be over fast.

"FLYNN!"

Dillon's scream cut across the expanse of empty space around Ziggy, and the desperation in it was so raw and pained that he almost forgot his own impending and sure-to-be messy death, snapping his head around. Ranger Series Black was racing towards him, desperately, and he could see Scott and Summer following in the distance. There was no question, though, that they were too far away to help. They would never make it time, and that strange coldness settled over Ziggy's body from top to bottom again, stilling him. This was it, then. Cut down by a Venjix attack bot on the outskirts of the city, and they would be finding parts of him splattered across Corinth for years. The only ranger not sprinting in vain to his rescue was Flynn, and he…

Flynn was on his knees facing Ziggy, both hands pressed flat against his helmet. His body was twisted forward and down, as though he was in agonizing pain. His blue armor was flickering and fading, and Ziggy had a moment of empathy for that, strangely detached from his own predicament. Flynn's suit was clearly maxed out on power, and now he was already in the throes of grieving, knowing there was nothing he could do. Well, that was nice, at least. Good to know he would be missed for at least a little while.

A sudden, vibrant blaze of light exploded from Flynn, and Ranger Series Blue brought his hands down sharply, fists clenched tight—

When the time field manipulation struck, Ziggy's body froze, and past his own surprise that Flynn had been able to dredge up enough energy to make it happen at all, he realized that the manipulation was the weirdest thing he'd ever felt in his life. He could still think just fine, but every muscle was locked in place; even his eyes, which were staring forward at the fireball that had just launched from Necroxis' pudgy hands. He couldn't breathe but, strangely, he didn't feel the suffocation. There was just stillness, and nothing to break it but his own frantic thoughts, spilling over each other.

Ziggy realized then, with dawning horror, that he was being treated to his own death in slow motion.

Because the manipulation was not holding firm; he could see that now, with the fireball still moving slowly but inexorably towards him. The bubble around him and Necroxis was twisting slowly like a thick gel, the air blurry with energy instead of frozen cold like he'd always seen it before. On the edges of his vision, he could just make out Dillon still running toward him, and Flynn shaking visibly nearby, the blue power becoming liquid around his body, choppy and swirling as he struggled to hold the manipulation in place. He saw Shifter stagger to the tunnel and throw himself headfirst down it, taking advantage of the distraction, and Tenaya 7 was a blur of darkness off to the side, hesitating.

Ziggy could hear a strange roaring in his ears now, faint at first but growing louder and then louder still. In a sudden, agonizing flash of light, the bubble around him popped and the world lurched back to full speed with a sickening rush. As he collapsed to his side, he saw not the red fireball that would spark the end of life as he knew it but a sparkling violet energy shield instead, and Dillon was standing between him and Necroxis, his invincibility shield firmly in place.

The world was fading rapidly around him, and Ziggy gasped for breath as the fireball struck Dillon's shield and was deflected harmlessly into the air. His vision narrowed, and he saw the shield vanish an instant later; saw Scott come in, a streak of red, and sever Necroxis' wobbly head with a single blow from his street saber.

Laughter. Tenaya 7, maybe, as she made her escape. He caught a faint drift of sulfur in the air from the weapons. His left hand was lying on the ground near his face, and he noticed with a distant, fading surprise that he was no longer morphed. _Wonder when that happened?_

"What the hell is going on?" That was Summer's voice, but she sounded a thousand miles away.

Strong hands that could only belong to Dillon were taking hold of him by the shoulders. Ziggy could feel exhaustion shutting his body down, piece by piece, even as a gloved hand curled around the back of his neck to support his head. "Scott, help me," Dillon called anxiously. No one responded, and then Ziggy heard Dillon speak again, very far away now, his voice cold with fear. "Oh, my God…"

Ziggy forced his eyes open, one last time. He could just barely see Flynn on his knees, unmorphed now and collapsing forward into Scott's arms.

Tenaya's dagger was planted in his back.


	7. Skin and Bones, pt 3

Author's Note: Okay, so here's the bad news. Yes, this story has now become four parts. Yes, this is a short update. Yes indeed, I'm going to draw out your torture and make you suffer even longer before I finally complete this "one-shot" tale. Please accept my apologies for the delay, but I didn't have as much time to write this week as I expected, and unfortunately fanfics do play second fiddle to my other projects when it comes to that. I did want to give you something today as promised, though, so here is a taste of more "Skin and Bones," with part four (and final!) hopefully to be along soon. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. Your comments help me to write faster, so please keep them coming. I love your feedback!

**Skin and Bones, pt. 3**

When Ziggy woke up, he became aware of two things immediately -- first, that he hurt from top to bottom, and second, that he was lying on the most uncomfortable bed he'd ever been on in his life.

Well, second most uncomfortable, maybe. He couldn't say a lot for the accommodations at the Corinth city jail.

The whole getting-knocked-out thing had happened to him a few times before, so he had an idea of what to expect. Sensation came back first, which was how he knew that he was sprawled out on his back, the surface beneath him cold and hard. That, it seemed, was the culprit responsible for drawing him up to awareness in the first place -- he didn't have much padding on his bones, and the corners of his shoulder blades were digging into the metal at his back. Stage two was the return of sound, fading in like a radio station slowly coming into tune. As he sorted through the thick, cottony darkness inside his head, he caught the sound of computers whirring and beeping, with quick footsteps and voices arguing. It was hard to make out the words.

"...on their way now. It should be any minute."

"God, I don't know. It doesn't look very good, Doc."

"...the best that I can. I'm not equipped for multiple casualties!"

Ziggy was pretty sure they weren't talking to him, so he ignored the voices. He could feel himself coming closer and closer to awareness as the fog in his mind burned off, and he braced for stage three -- World of Pain.

Waking up from unconsciousness might actually make a cool video game.

Grimacing as the aches in his body became more pronounced, Ziggy coughed and instinctively shifted, twisting away from the metal beneath him and trying to ease himself into a more comfortable position. The pain in his body flared up like a stoked fire, searing his skin and sinking deeply into what was left of his weak muscles. Suddenly, a hand pressed into his left shoulder, gentle but firm, easing him down and holding him still. His whole body was waking now, one painful part after the other.

With some regret, he entered stage four -- Open Your Eyes.

The light of the room was overly sharp, and he screwed his eyes shut tightly in defense against it. After a moment he was able to open them a crack, and only then did he realize that he was lying on the floor of Doctor K's laboratory, at the foot of the power cases where their Ranger suits were kept. He could just barely make out the blurry outline of Dillon's Series Black suit in the case directly above him, glowing with a faint purple light. Ziggy had always meant to ask the doc why the suits seemed filled out in the cases, even though nobody was inside of them. Eventually, he'd decided to chalk it up to energy parameters or cosmic space dust or some other fancy concept that he didn't understand and that the good doctor probably made up anyway.

He turned his head away, trying to shake loose of the curious thoughts that trailed after his stumbling mind. It was then that he noticed someone kneeling at his side, and he blinked to bring the face into focus.

Dillon.

Dillon was beside him, and he owned the hand that was still pressing him down into the floor, holding him still. Ziggy realized blearily that his own right arm was stretched up into the air above him, and Dillon had hold of that, too, keeping a pressure bandage fastened tight around his forearm. Strangely enough, the arm was the one part of his body that didn't hurt -- the whole thing had gone numb, which maybe was why he didn't realize it was up there above him in the first place, the hand limp and little rivulets of drying blood painting long, grotesque paths down towards his shoulder.

Wait, blood? Who was bleeding?

Ziggy blinked his eyes open a bit more as the world began to come into focus around him, and he tried again to take stock of the situation. What did he know? He was lying on the floor of the doc's lab. That alone was weird, but he was also hurting like the entire Corinth High wrestling team had just used him for a warm-up mat. Normally he might sit up and demand to know, in no uncertain terms and with all the righteous indignation he could muster, what in hell was going on, but that thought was interrupted by a spin of sudden, anxious movement nearby. Ziggy made the mistake of turning his head quickly toward it. The room lurched, and he clamped his eyes shut as he hissed in a breath.

Dillon shifted next to him. "You okay?" he asked, and from the sound of his voice he was leaning over, bending close to Ziggy's prone frame.

It was a stupid question. Ziggy would have loved to answer since it was just the sort of dumb thing he would normally ask himself. He didn't respond, though. Even with his eyes closed, he could still see the room spinning around him, and he was afraid he might throw up if he so much as opened his mouth.

"Scott, come here… let's give them room to work, okay?" The voice was nearby, and sounded like Summer.

"We have to get this bleeding under control!"

Dillon squeezed Ziggy's shoulder reassuringly. "Everything's fine," he said, though Ziggy could detect an edgy note in his voice. "We'll have you off the floor in just a minute, okay?"

As uncomfortable as it was, the thought of getting off the floor and moving anywhere made Ziggy want to puke all the more, but he didn't respond to that, either. When he could again crack open his eyes a sliver, he looked carefully toward the commotion in the center of the room. He saw jeans and sneakers blending with military boots, hurrying around a table in the center of Doctor K's lab. He saw the hem of her white lab coat fluttering anxiously, and he realized suddenly and with some perplexion that there was a real air of urgency now, as though something was wrong. Was something wrong?

"It'll be okay," Dillon said above him. "He'll be fine."

Ziggy wondered who he was even talking about, and closed his eyes again.


	8. Skin and Bones, pt 4

**Author's Note**: I own all characters and copyrights. Wait, no I don't. Thanks to all of you for your patience with this "one-shot." I hope you enjoy the final installment, and remember that feedback is a girl's best friend!

**Skin and Bones, pt. 4**

There was nothing else until Ziggy woke up for good, this time blinking into a harsh, brilliant light above him and the unwelcome sting of something biting deeply into his right arm. He felt dazed and sluggish, as if his mind had drifted apart from the rest of his body. The lone thread that connected him to it still was that fierce pinprick of fire chewing down through his flesh, drawing him steadily and reluctantly back into himself. Though he couldn't quite muster the strength to curl away from the offending pain, he squinted in its general direction, his mind untangling slowly from the thick cloak that unconsciousness had left behind. Doctor K was standing next to him, leaning down, her expression shrewd and studious as she buried the business end of a syringe deep into his arm. She was completely caught up in her work, unaware of his eyes upon her, and her fingertips felt ice-cold against his skin. "Okay, come and look," she said, not taking her gaze from his arm. "Come on. It doesn't look nearly so bad now that I've gotten it cleaned up a bit."

A moment later, Scott was inching reluctantly to her side. He looked vaguely sick and not at all excited to be there.

As though she could sense his discomfort, Doctor K turned slightly to glance up into Scott's pinched face, probably gauging whether or not he was about to take a dip at the knees and become her next patient. He was swallowing nervously but seemed steady enough beyond that, and when the doc turned back to Ziggy's arm, he was surprised to note that she was actually smiling. "Don't pass out on me, Series Red," she warned, and seemed to be making a conscious effort to keep the grin out of her voice. "I've had enough Rangers down for one day."

_there's clearly been a disruption – I think your suits may have been overloaded_

That cloudy thought came to him through the haze, unbidden and gone as quickly as it appeared, moving like a touch of cool breeze across his fevered mind.

"Hey, I can handle it," Scott huffed back. "I just don't have to like it."

The doctor's smile widened, causing the corners of her eyes to crinkle. Fascinated, Ziggy abandoned the confusing shadows of his memory and peered at her instead. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Doctor K smile. He couldn't remember if he had ever seen her smile. "Didn't you ever put together puzzles as a child?" she asked. She was still intent upon his arm, and seemed unaware that Ziggy's attention was upon her.

"I put together puzzles," Scott replied, inching back from the table and redirecting his gaze firmly at the floor. To the doc's point, he did look a little green around the gills. "Not people."

"Well, it's almost the same thing," she said dismissively, and withdrew the needle with a quick flick of her wrist. "Do you see how the edges of the wound match up?"

Somewhat intrigued, Ziggy lifted his head to look himself and was instantly hit with two overwhelming sensations -- dizziness, which was back again to waltz him about the room, and nausea, which came mostly from his quick glance at the jagged, three-inch gash torn deeply across his right forearm and the blood-soaked bandages beneath it. He squeezed his eyes shut again, gritting his teeth and letting his head fall back against the table with a thunk.

"Ziggy?" Summer was speaking to him gently from somewhere nearby. He felt her hand slip smoothly into his good one, her fingers squeezing his with strong assurance. It felt like a lifeline, fastening him to reality, and he squeezed back weakly. "We're here. Are you back with us?"

"Back from where?" he asked groggily. At least he knew where he was at the moment -- lying on a table almost as uncomfortable as the floor, in the doc's lab, caught under her floodlight like something to be dissected. His body still ached, but the pain wasn't quite as bad. It was more like a fading impression of what he remembered from before, flitting and almost lost against the overwhelming confusion that threatened to swallow him alive.

The table in the doc's lab. Something in the corner of his mind was nudging him, reminding him that this was important. He had no idea why.

"You were someplace nicer than this, I'm sure." Dillon's voice. Ziggy cracked open his eyes once more.

Dillon was right beside him, bending down to see him better with his arms folded against the edge of the table. He was smiling with that practiced easiness he did so well, but Ziggy didn't miss the thinly veiled relief just beneath the expression. With some surprise, he realized that Dillon had abandoned his customary leather jacket at some point, and was wearing his black T-shirt instead. They had joked about that once, when the five of them had been together… how the curious blend of the power into their bodies had somehow affected not just their strength and agility, but also the contents of their closets, and though Dillon had an entire drawer full of identical black shirts, he claimed it was the only color he'd ever wanted to wear anyway. Ziggy squinted up at him, trying to process that memory. Scott liked to claim that Dillon wore the shirts simply because they showed off his muscled arms so well, at which time Dillon would smirk and take the opportunity to flex, and the conversation would disintegrate from there.

_his head lolled drunkenly against a solid chest, and he felt strong arms cradling his numb body_

Summer entered his field of vision, her cascade of blond hair tumbling towards him as she leaned closer with a warm smile. "How do you feel?"

"I feel…" Ziggy let his eyes drift away from her, blinking slowly into the dim corners of the room as he tried to come up with an answer to that. Tired? Nauseous? "Sort of bad, I guess." Then, since it only seemed polite: "How do you feel?"

Summer chuckled. "Better now that you're awake. You had us worried."

A hand squeezed his ankle lightly to get his attention. "Are you hurting anywhere we don't know about?" Scott asked.

Was he serious? "I hurt everywhere," Ziggy muttered, and swallowed against the tangy and somewhat rancid taste that had dried up in his mouth. He'd obviously been knocked out long enough for something to die in there, but he couldn't remember what had happened. There must have been a battle, and apparently he hadn't fared too well. Maybe all the Grinders he'd killed in simulation had come back to life and pounded on him with baseball bats.

"You hurt everywhere? Is that normal?" Summer sounded a touch concerned, and when he looked at her to tell her he had no idea if it was normal or not, he saw her looking not at him but at the doc, a frown creasing fine lines across her forehead.

Doctor K nodded, uncapping another needle. "That's an effect of the power drain," she said matter-of-factly. "He didn't have the protection of his suit to help offset the muscle soreness and bruising that would normally accompany a battle of that magnitude. Once we can get him morphed again, the Series Green powers will blend back with his DNA to help heal any tissue damage. He'll feel the soreness subside in pretty short order once that takes place."

"What about in the meantime?" Scott asked.

"I'll just use narcotics."

Dillon grinned down at Ziggy. "All's well that ends well."

Scott smiled, too, and patted Ziggy's leg. "Glad to have you back among the living."

Ziggy's eyebrows knitted together as he tried to comprehend that. He still felt like his brain was moving in slow motion. "What, um… did somebody ask me a question?"

"Scott asked if you were hurting anywhere besides your arm," Summer said. She still held his hand clasped in her own. "Are you?"

"Before that."

She glanced at Dillon, expression guarded. "I asked you how you felt. Is that what you mean?"

"Yeah." He still hadn't come up with an answer to that one, he realized groggily. Or had he? "I feel bad."

"That's what you already said." Dillon turned his wary gaze upon Doctor K. "What did you give him exactly?"

Doctor K lifted her latest wicked-looking syringe, squirting a pale blue substance from the needle before turning back to the work at hand. "Just an anesthetic for the injury. This one is designed to prevent infection."

"No sedatives or anything?" Scott asked. "He's acting a little loopy."

The doc looked up with a thin smile, her eyes sparkling with a bit of rarely seen humor. "That's called his personality."

"Takes one to know one," Ziggy muttered.

"Make sure he stays still," Doctor K said to Dillon, and Ziggy felt Dillon's strong hands rest easily on his shoulders a moment later. "I don't want him jumping around while I'm trying to stitch this up."

"Do I really look like I'm going to start jumping around?" Ziggy sighed. He had bigger things to worry about than whatever the doc was doing to his arm. The nagging worry in the back of his mind was getting bigger now, like a growing shadow, and it was practically doing cartwheels to get his attention. He scowled and let his head sag over to the side, where he could see Doctor K working on his arm with intent while Scott looked pointedly elsewhere. Maybe she had given him something after all; that would explain why he felt like he'd been shaken loose from reality, not quite able to grasp coherent thought. At least they were all here to support him in his delirium. Scott, Dillon, Summer. Even the doc. That was nice. He had always hated being alone.

The shadow in the back of his mind was starting to stomp mightily, bringing on what would undoubtedly be a wicked headache in a few minutes.

Wait…

_Scott, Dillon, Summer._

_Scott, Dillon, Summer?_

"Flynn!" Ziggy exclaimed, and sat bolt upright on the lab table like a jack-in-the box. The doc jumped, too, and yelled something at him -- actually, it sounded a little bit like she was cussing him -- but he couldn't be sure, because the shadow had exploded inside his head and globs of horrible memories were running down the insides of his skull, making sense now and flashing him back to fireballs glimmering with barely concealed heat, Flynn's blue armor flickering and fading, and…

…Tenaya 7's dagger, buried between Flynn's shoulder blades.

"Hold him still!" Doctor K snapped.

_Series Blue and Series Green, report! Are you all right?_

An instant later, Dillon had shoved him bodily back onto the table and was pinning down his chest, and Scott had flung himself across Ziggy at the knees as though dealing with someone straight out of the psycho ward. Summer was reaching across Ziggy, helping to hold his right arm fast. Doctor K's sharp voice cut through his panic like a razor. "Series Green! I will sedate you if you don't stop!"

"Where's Flynn?" Ziggy gasped out, his breaths a bit harder to come by now that Dillon was practically crushing his chest. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine," Summer said, and squeezed his hand so tightly it hurt. "Listen to me. Flynn is fine. We need you to calm down, Ziggy. Right now. "

"But… I remember…"

_he realized then, with dawning horror, that he was being treated to his own death in slow motion_

"He's fine," she insisted.

Ziggy looked up, desperately, and--

_Laughter. Tenaya 7, maybe, as she made her escape._

--somehow, in that even gaze that met his own, he believed her.

Ziggy went slack, and slowly, Dillon and Scott backed off, though Dillon's hands remained firm and ready on his shoulders. "This is bleeding again," Doctor K said quickly, her annoyance poorly disguised, and Scott scrambled to hand over a packet of gauze from a side table Ziggy hadn't noticed before. "Series Green, I swear--"

"Stop," Summer interrupted. She hadn't looked away from him, and the gentleness in her eyes stood in harsh contrast to the warning note in her voice. She placed a hand against Ziggy's cheek, caressing the flushed skin with her thumb. It felt nice, and he might have rather enjoyed it if not for the half-crazed fear eating its way up his spine. "Ziggy," she said. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Yeah -- I remember." He coughed, trying to force air in and out of his aching lungs. "We hit the shields, and our suits screwed up… Flynn put me in a time warp thing to keep that monster from blowing my head off. Tenaya… she had a piece of metal from one of the Grinders that exploded…" His throat was swelling with emotion, choking off his voice.

Summer nodded. "You both lost the protection of your suits when you hit the shield. Doctor K, what did you say it was called?"

"Electrical loop," she replied tightly, and Ziggy didn't miss the cool, somewhat perturbed look she gave to Summer as she pressed the gauze firmly against Ziggy's arm. "The power grids inside the shields operate at an extremely high voltage level. When Series Green and Series Blue impacted the shields, that voltage caused a short-circuit that ultimately damaged their suits beyond functionality."

_a disruption of energy that Ziggy felt building at his back a second before it exploded, launching him in the air like a bullet from a gun_

"My dad showed us the power spike they recorded when you guys hit," Scott added. "You had enough electricity going there to light this base up for a week."

"That's why Tenaya was able to cut through your suit, Ziggy," Summer said. "It was damaged. It couldn't protect you anymore."

"Is that what happened to Flynn?"

Her eyes flicked over to Scott. "Sort of," she hedged. "Flynn was actually attacked after his power levels had reached zero. He had already demorphed at that point. You were both completely maxed out."

"That's also why you both lost consciousness," the doc added. "As it depleted your suits, the energy drain moved into your physical bodies via the DNA link. My hypothesis was that you would awaken after a recovery period, which is apparently the case."

Ziggy's eyes flashed from Dillon, to Summer, then back again. "So Flynn's awake? Is he okay? Where is he?"

"He's fine," Summer said again, and patted his cheek. "We had to get the colonel's surgeons to come take a look at him because of where he was hurt. They're still taking care of him, but last we heard they didn't think Tenaya had hit anything important. They're getting him fixed up now. We've been more worried about you, honestly."

It still hurt to think, but he was determined to do it. The fog in his mind was slowly but steadily burning away. "Why can't… why is he with surgeons? Doc, didn't you just say that we can morph and it'll make us heal faster?"

"You could morph," she said dryly. "Except for that."

Ziggy didn't know what she was referring to until Scott hooked a thumb over his shoulder, toward the cases behind him that housed their suits. Lifting his head gingerly, Ziggy squinted over and was startled to see his own green suit alive with an unearthly glow, soft but vibrant and covering the outfit from top to bottom. Flynn's was also aglow, and between the two it cast the entire corner of the room in watery, cool light. "What is that?"

"Your suits are being rebuilt from the inside out," Doctor K said, and tossed a handful of bloodied gauze over her shoulder. It came nowhere close to Scott, but he bolted out of the way regardless. "The structure is still there, but the power fields within them were almost destroyed. You won't be able to morph for a few days until they're back to full operational standards."

Ziggy nodded wearily. "I want to see Flynn."

"He won't be able to have visitors for a few hours," Scott replied. "They've got him next door, over in the infirmary. You ought to just rest for now."

Ziggy felt a sharp pain in his arm, racing all the way up to his collarbone, and frowned at Doctor K as she withdrew a needle from his wound. "That hurt," he muttered.

She grinned back, a bit of sunshine in her smile. "We can always do this without anesthetics if that's what you would prefer."

"Why am I not in the infirmary?" he complained. "I want a doctor who actually went to medical school."

"The surgeons looked at you. You just weren't banged up quite enough to go over there," Scott explained. "Besides, Doctor K wanted to sharpen her skills."

"That's great," he mumbled.

"Just relax," Summer said. "This will all be finished in a minute."

It was actually about fifteen minutes, by Ziggy's count, before the wound was stitched closed and Doctor K had slathered on ointments and wrapped it in a large white bandage. The stitches would stay in until he could morph again, and then she would have to cut them out and he could morph a second time to heal the pinprick wounds the threads left behind. It didn't sound all that appealing, but he figured it was better than wearing a bandage for a few weeks and dealing with a weak arm and a weeping gash that would probably get infected anyway. The only good news in the whole mess had been a call from the colonel, confirming that Flynn was also stitched up nicely and was sleeping off the anesthesia next door. His injuries had been fairly minor, as they'd guessed, and would doubtless be up and about again in no time.

Ziggy didn't quite trust the prognosis without a chance to see Flynn for himself. He remembered that air of urgency that had filled the room, and it turned his stomach cold. It would still be a while before he could pay a visit, though, because Summer wouldn't stop hovering and he was admittedly exhausted, though he hated to admit it. By the time the doc's work was finished, the others insisted that he go to his room and rest. "We'll let you know when Flynn's awake," Summer had reassured him, and since it was difficult to argue when his eyes were already half-closed, he gave in and even allowed himself the final indignity of being scooped up into Dillon's easy grasp and carried upstairs like a girl. He would have blushed, only he was too exhausted to manage it.

Once he was settled, they left him alone with the door closed and the Fred Flintstone nightlight (a gag gift from Scott after Ziggy had complained about how downright dark it got at night, and was Doctor K really so itchy about sunlight that they couldn't have one frigging window in the place?) glowing softly in the corner of the room. It was calm, and soothing, and it wouldn't have taken any effort at all to fall deeply into the embrace of sleep.

But he could not.

The battle was pushing into his every thought, leeching into the corners of his mind. He couldn't stop thinking about Flynn.

_Flynn was on his knees facing Ziggy with both hands pressed flat against his helmet, body twisted forward and down as though in agonizing pain_

Flynn, who had raced to help him when Tenaya attacked.

Flynn, who had found the energy somewhere inside to throw a time field manipulation when Ziggy was staring death in the face.

Flynn, who had been stabbed -- stabbed -- by Tenaya 7 when he was at his most vulnerable.

All of which had happened because of him.

There was really no denying it. It didn't matter if Flynn was going to be fine and if the others didn't blame him. It was his fault. He knew that. If he had been half the fighter that the others were, it never would have happened. He wanted desperately to sleep and lose himself to the nightmares that beckoned, but he couldn't even consider it so long as Flynn was the star attraction of the Corinth military infirmary.

Ignoring the throbbing headache at the base of his skull, Ziggy slipped out of bed and crept to the door, listening closely for a moment before edging it open. He could hear Scott and Summer downstairs, and after confirming that the coast was clear, he slipped out into the hallway, moving as quick and low as his muscles would allow. Summer's voice was filtering up to him over the banister railing, and he chanced a quick glance down into the common room below. She and Scott were cleaning up from the party earlier, gathering empty pizza boxes and soda cans into trash bags and talking softly as they did so.

"…so lucky we didn't lose them, you know?" That was Summer, her voice laced with worry still. "I don't even want to think about what might have happened."

"Well, the good news is, they're both fine." Scott's reply was matter-of-fact, and Ziggy could hear him shaking out a trash bag as he spoke.

"Yeah."

"You don't sound convinced."

"I just can't stop thinking about the next time," she replied. Edging as close to the railing as he dared, Ziggy peeked through and saw Summer slowly easing herself down onto the couch, her back to him, rubbing absently at one shoulder. Scott was standing nearby with the trash bag in his hands. "I mean, sure, they're both going to be fine today… but what about tomorrow? If that's the level of Venjix technology we're facing now, what next? How long do we have until we face something that none of us can walk away from?"

Scott sighed, putting the trash bag aside. He sat down next to Summer and wrapped an arm gently around her shoulders. "You'll drive yourself crazy thinking about that type of stuff."

"I know."

"There's two things to remember," he added, lifting a hand and putting up two fingers in what looked like a peace sign. "There's nothing we can do."

"Yeah."

"And at the same time? We're going to do everything we can. You know that."

"Yeah," she said again, and leaned her head against his shoulder. "I just wish that would help me to sleep easier tonight."

Ziggy inched back, pressing his injured arm against his stomach to keep it as still as he could. His head was still pounding and he felt unsteady on his feet, but he forced himself to move away quietly, leaving them there and slipping past the other bedrooms toward the shadowed network of long hallways that fed deeply into the heart of the base.

It took two rights and a left to reach the annex that connected their headquarters with the sprawling complex that served as Corinth's hub of military operations, and the core of Colonel Truman's empire. Since the Ranger program was a key element of the city's defenses, the doc had managed to get a corner of the complex carved out for them, but they remained isolated from the soldiers and civilians who kept Corinth's order and oversaw the defense of the city against Venjix. Ziggy himself had only been to the headquarters a few times, and it left him with a cold, nervous feeling, as though he'd been called to the principal's office. It was even worse now, because not only was he here as the unworthy Ranger, the goofy one who ran with cartels and had a police record that went back to his fifth birthday (he didn't like to talk about the petting zoo incident), but he was here as the incompetent Ranger, too. The one who got his teammates cut down. The one who couldn't be counted on.

Guilt was weighing him down like a vice, digging into his narrow shoulders.

But Ziggy swallowed back his cold, dizzy fear and kept putting one foot in front of the other until he reached the infirmary door. Luck was on his side for a change as no one else appeared to be around, and he slipped inside, relieved to find the room empty of doctors and nurses as well. The lights were dimmed, and all of the dozen beds sat neat and empty save one, on the far side of the room. A privacy curtain was tugged halfway closed, and he could see a person lying still beneath the blankets. The unnerving silence of the room was broken only by steady beeps from machines. He shook off the chill that zipped up his back and forced himself to draw closer, one step following the next, until he was edging around the curtain and finally standing at the foot of Flynn's bed.

His imagination had convinced him that Flynn would be a shell of his former self, with skin as pale as the white sheets he lay against and dark circles around his eyes as evidence of the hell Ziggy had put him through. In truth, though, he looked pretty healthy -- maybe a little bit tired, but none the worse for wear. He was resting on his side, pillows piled generously against his chest and back, and he wore what almost looked like a smile at the corner of his lips. But for the IV tubing taped to his arm and the scattering of monitor wires snaking their way over the side of the bed, Flynn might have been stretched out on the couch like Scott had been before (God, had it really been earlier that day?), catching a quick nap.

But Flynn was in the infirmary, which was akin to ICU around here. Nobody ever got sent to the infirmary, because no one ever got sick or injured to the point that they needed treatment that surpassed Doctor K's formidable (but, in Ziggy's opinion, still questionable) skills. There was no forgetting that, and there was no forgetting that awful image of Flynn collapsing into Scott's arms, with that dagger…

Ziggy swallowed hard. Now that he was here, he wanted nothing more than to leave, but that wasn't fair. It was his fault that Flynn was here, and he had an obligation to be here, too. With his good arm, Ziggy snagged a nearby chair and pulled it close to the edge of the bed, easing his aching body down. After a moment, he rested his arms atop the metal railing along the side of Flynn's bed and pressed his forehead against them, trying to breathe deeply, and trying to keep the pains of his body balanced against the deep, untouchable pain in his heart.

"He's not dead, you know."

Ziggy didn't have to look up to know who it was. "Who let you in here?"

"I've been here for a while." Dillon's voice was patient; almost kind. Ziggy hated the sound of it. "You do know that he's just sleeping, right?"

"I know."

"The docs say there won't be any ill effects. He's fine."

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter. "I know."

"And you do know that this isn't your fault, right?"

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Ziggy looked up at Dillon and tried to keep from glaring. Where Dillon had been hiding Ziggy had no idea, but he was standing across from him now on the other side of the bed, his arms folded, his expression the picture of serenity and calm assurance. It had only been a few months (had it really only been a few months?) since they'd met in that whirlwind of dust and radiation under sickly yellow skies in the wasteland, but Dillon already knew him too well. He knew that Ziggy would feel guilty. He knew that Ziggy would find his way over, and he knew he ought to be there to help him keep the murky waters of regret and shame at bay. It was sort of nice, actually. But when their gazes met, Dillon's expression changed almost immediately into a befuddled mix of surprise and astonishment, and Ziggy knew then that whatever anguish Dillon had expected to find, there was more here than he'd bargained for. "You've got to be kidding me. Ziggy."

"You know me," he muttered, breaking his eyes away. "Don't act surprised. Of course this is my fault, Dillon."

"How can you say that? This could have happened to any of us."

"And I'm sure it will." He let his arms fall into his lap, ignoring the spike of pain from his injured arm. "Who's going to get hurt next because of me?"

"That's not what I mean." Ziggy heard the sound of chair legs scraping across the floor, and he looked up to see Dillon dragging a chair of his own to the other side of Flynn's bed and flipping it around backwards to straddle the seat, his chest pressed into the backrest. "You did great out there. You've really come far since you started. What I mean is, any of us can get hurt like this. If we put on the suits, we take that risk. It doesn't have anything to do with you."

"But he was helping me," Ziggy sighed, threading his good hand through the railing to fiddle with a loose thread in Flynn's blanket. "I was the reason he was there in the first place."

Dillon shook his head. "It's not your fault that the monster attacked you first. We all help each other. If it had been me, you would've helped me, right?"

"You would have been able to fight it off."

"I'm not so sure about that. I couldn't even handle SatBot." Dillon smirked at the memory. "Remember who saved my ass that time?"

"No," Ziggy muttered.

"You jumped off a building to save me, you idiot. You could've been killed. How can you look at that and say that you're not worth just as much as the rest of us?"

He picked harder at the blanket, trying to think of a response.

"You didn't want to be a Ranger, did you?" Dillon's voice was softer this time, almost contemplative.

Ziggy scowled. "Were you not there the first time I morphed?" That Oscar-worthy performance was yet another memory he could do without.

"I wasn't too keen on the whole thing, either, you know. But I said yes. You know why?"

"Because you were looking at fifteen years in the Corinth lockup?"

He smirked. "Because Corinth needed me. It needs all of us."

Ziggy sighed, deeply. "Maybe it does, Dillon. But Flynn got stabbed out there! I can't have people getting hurt like that because of me."

Dillon studied him thoughtfully for a second, then stood, reaching out across the bed. Ziggy drew back slightly, confused. "Let me see your arm," he said, and Ziggy hesitantly extended it, allowing Dillon to take his injured arm by the wrist. "How did you get this?" he asked, turning the arm gently to study at the thick bandages encircling his forearm.

Ziggy tried to resist the urge to pull away. "You were there. Flynn and I were fighting Tenaya."

"You got hurt because of us?"

"Well…" He honestly hadn't thought of it that way.

"Look at me," Dillon ordered. Ziggy did, and was surprised to find Dillon's gaze serious and compelling. "Tell me why what's good enough for you isn't good enough for the rest of us."

He didn't have an answer for that.

"You think we all don't feel bad?" He released Ziggy's arm, sitting back down heavily and running his hands through his hair. "Scott was so upset out there he could barely see straight."

Ziggy frowned, struggling to grasp something tangible amid the guilt, weariness and puzzlement that tangled his brain into knotted loops. "I can't remember much of that. I sort of remember being on the floor while you guys were taking care of Flynn. How did you get us back to the base? Medical transport?"

"No. There was no time. We had to carry you both back to the cars and drive you in." Dillon's eyes wandered down to Flynn's blanket, his expression darkening. "We took Flynn first, because Summer was afraid he was going into shock. She and Scott brought him here. I took you," he added.

Ziggy nodded slowly. "I think I remember that. You carried me, right?"

"Yeah, I had to. It was…"

The silence stretched uncomfortably. "It was what?" Ziggy finally asked.

Dillon hesitated, then folded his arms in exasperation and glared at the equipment beside Flynn's bed. "It was bad. I didn't really know what to do. And you bled a lot."

The hot, quick anger in Dillon's countenance was a little alarming, so Ziggy tried to muster a smile. "Hope it didn't stain your upholstery."

"Well, I'm going to have to get my jacket dry-cleaned, but most of it ended up on you." Dillon smiled faintly back, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Doc K about had a heart attack when I carried you in."

An unpleasant image tried to make room for itself at the forefront of Ziggy's mind, but he shoved it away. He would not picture Dillon carrying his unconscious body into the base, both of them spattered with the blood that only came from one of them. He would not picture the looks on the faces of his friends. He would not picture what Flynn probably looked like at that point, either. Only his nightmares would find those images appealing.

"We were all upset... scared," Dillon added, somewhat defensively. "It happens."

Sighing, Ziggy propped his good arm against the railing and rested his head against his hand. They needed to change the subject, and quick. "Can I ask you something else?"

"Sure."

He took a deep breath. "Do you think we're going to make it?"

"Make what? I already told you--"

"No," he said. He felt a twinge of pain deep within the sutured wound on his arm, a soreness that leaked and bled into the bristling worry burrowing into his stomach. "I mean, make it. Against Venjix."

Dillon blinked, surprised. "Well… I don't know. I think so. We're doing a pretty good job so far, aren't we?"

"You saw the same thing I did today. That monster… whatever its name was…"

"Necroxis."

"Yeah. That thing was unbelievable. If that's what Venjix is putting out now, how are we supposed to beat that? I mean, look at us," he said, raising his head and waving his hand carelessly to encompass himself, Flynn's still form and Dillon's thoughtful gaze. "What are we going to do when the next attack comes? How are we supposed to protect people when we can't even protect ourselves?"

"Summer and I were talking about that very thing once. She told me that's exactly what she and Scott and Flynn were worried about before we showed up."

"Us? You mean, when we first ran the barricade into Corinth?"

"Yeah." He shrugged, and his expression was all at once easy again, the thunderclouds scattered to make way for a smile. "Seems to have worked out okay so far."

"Well, what about next time? What if something like this happens again? Or what if it's worse?"

"What if Venjix has a system crash tomorrow and the threat's over? Nobody knows what's going to happen. We just have to take it as it comes." He learned forward a bit, studying Ziggy closely. "Besides… you do know we have a secret weapon, right?"

"We do?"

He nodded sagely. "It's back in the base right now, trying to get blood out of that immaculate lab coat and cussing you and Flynn up one wall and down the other."

Ziggy grinned. "I can find some peroxide for her if she's that worried about it."

"She's not going to let us fall, Ziggy. Between her and the colonel… we're going to keep Corinth safe. Venjix may be getting stronger, but we are, too."

"I don't feel much stronger."

"Seventeen Grinders in simulation, right?"

Ziggy sighed, but managed to find a little smile, at least. "Right. And here's one good thing, I guess."

"What's that?"

"We sure knocked the hell out of Necroxis." The grin felt more real, now.

"I don't recall you knocking the hell out of anything," Dillon smirked. "Scott was the one who took its head off."

"Well, I softened him up." He made a loose fist, pounding it lightly on the bed. "That really was something, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was. Like I said, you did okay out there."

"Maybe." He rubbed at his eyes again with his good hand. His head still ached, and his body felt watery and loose, like he'd gone six rounds with a meat grinder.

"Why don't you crash in here?" Dillon asked, waving at the bed next to Flynn's. "You look like death warmed over."

Ziggy frowned, nodding. "You know, that's what I've been trying to figure out," he said, and Dillon arched an eyebrow as Ziggy tilted his head toward Flynn, vaguely aware that he'd just made a mental jump from Thought A to Thought M and left Dillon completely in the dust as he did so. "Look at him. How does he look like that? How come I look like I just got run over by your car, and Flynn's in a hospital bed ready for a photo shoot?"

"Some of us are just pretty like that," Flynn murmured drowsily.

They both startled. "Flynn?" Dillon said quickly, standing and stepping to the head of the bed to lean closer. Ziggy scrambled up too, his eyes locked on Flynn's still face. "Can you hear me?"

"I've heard all of your blabbering." His eyes were still closed, but a lazy smile was growing. "Can't you see that some of us are trying to rest here?"

Ziggy looked up at Dillon, and they exchanged relieved smiles before Ziggy placed a tentative hand on Flynn's shoulder. "How do you feel?"

Flynn cracked his eyes open drowsily. "Not too bad, actually. I think they must have me on the good stuff."

"Do you remember what happened?" Dillon pressed.

"Sort of." He frowned a little as his wandering gaze fell upon Ziggy's arm. "What happened to you?"

"The same thing that happened to you."

Frowning deeper, Flynn's eyes flicked to Dillon for translation.

"You were having some trouble with Tenaya 7," Dillon explained. "Plus, the Venjix monster threw both of you into the shields--"

"Oh," Flynn said slowly, and nodded. "I remember that part for sure."

"You got stabbed in the back after your suit ran out of power," Ziggy added.

"Stabbed? Really? By who?"

"Tenaya did it. I, uh… I'm sorry about that."

"Well now, unless you're Tenaya 7 in disguise, you don't have anything to be sorry for, do you?" Grimacing, Flynn started to roll onto his back, then thought better of it. "I think this is fine for now," he sighed.

"Yeah, be careful," Dillon advised. "You're going to be pretty sore for a while."

"A few days," Ziggy supplied helpfully, leaning on the railing and grinning down at his friend. He couldn't believe how much better it made him feel just to see Flynn's eyes open again.

Flynn gave Ziggy a wary glance. "You're my doctor now, are you?"

"No, that's what the doc said. Doctor K, I mean. She said that our injuries will heal in a few days once we morph. The suits do it... something with the DNA bonding; I don't know."

"Why don't we go ahead with that, then?"

"Well, because we have to wait."

Flynn glanced at Dillon. "He's on drugs too, right?"

"Your suits were down to single digits when you powered down," Dillon said, smiling. "It's going to take three days for them to charge back up. And yes, I think he is."

"Great," Flynn groaned. "So you two loonies are going to be my roommates until then; is that it?"

"Well, maybe not him," Ziggy said. "But I'll stay with you as long as you want."

"You can go," he grinned.

"I'll call the medical team and let the others know that you're awake," Dillon said. He gave them both a final smirk before slipping out.

Ziggy watched him depart, then turned back to Flynn, swallowing. "Flynn, really," he said, and reached out for Flynn's hand, the fingers of his injured arm numb and clumsy until Flynn met him halfway, grasping Ziggy's hand in his own. "Thanks for helping me out there. I don't know how I would have come through it if not for you."

"I heard what you said to Dillon," Flynn said seriously. Ziggy wanted to look away, but he didn't dare. "You've got to stop being so down on yourself, lad. You're a hell of a Ranger, to step up like you have. I can't believe we ever got along without you. And to be honest, I don't know what we'd do if we didn't have you now."

He blushed, ducking his head. "Well… thanks. That's good to know. Are… how are you feeling?"

Flynn's eyes twinkled. "Honestly? I feel like I've been trampled by a herd of sheep."

"Doesn't sound like a good thing."

"Not really, no." He closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath. "Before this place gets to crawling with doctors and the like, you'd better take Dillon up on his advice and grab a little shut-eye. You look terrible."

Ziggy grinned. "The ladies say differently."

"Get on with you," he laughed, and Ziggy slipped away, ducking around the curtain to the clean and neatly-made bed just a few feet away. Pure exhaustion claimed him as soon as he felt the mattress sink under his weight, and as he lay back, eyelids drooping, memories filtered in like sunlight through gauze curtains.

_not equipped for multiple casualties_

_I knew you had the soul of a Ranger... and now you've got the spirit, too…_

_It's all right, we've got you. Just relax. We're here, Ziggy. Everything's going to be all right._

Maybe it would be, after all. At least, Ziggy thought as his eyes slipped closed, he wasn't alone.

God willing, he would never be alone again.

**Author's Note pt. II**: Again, thanks for reading and I really hope you enjoyed the story. I respond to all reviews, even the anonymous ones (if you leave your e-mail address), so I welcome your thoughts, ideas, questions and comments. Of course, the adventures of our favorite Rangers are far from over! I expect to come up with a few stand-alones over the next week or two if the previews for "Embodied" (premiering this Saturday, June 13) and "Ghosts" (premiering Saturday, June 20) are to be believed, but this series will continue on in due course. Next up in this continuing saga of our favorite heroes is "Safe and Alive," in which Ziggy decides not to give up on himself or anyone else either. It should be an ACTUAL one-shot. ;) See you then!


	9. Safe and Alive

**Safe and Alive**

"But so many people are looking to me  
To be strong and to fight, but I'm just surviving  
And I may be weak, but I'm never defeated  
And I'll keep believing in clouds with that sweet silver lining…"  
_-- Kate Voegele, "Sweet Silver Lining"_

Shouldering his worn, familiar backpack, Ziggy bounced a little to settle it in place and reached up to grip the shoulder straps, smirking a little despite himself. Considering that the majority of the planet was now in holocaust thanks to Venjix, it was utterly ridiculous to stand here on the stairs of the base and feel like he was heading off to school, but there it was. If he allowed himself just a second to close his eyes, he could still hear his mother banging around pots in the kitchen and his little sister chanting through her list of spelling words at the breakfast table, sing-songing her way through "grass" and "outside" and "kitten," and his father leaning in the back door, hollering that their ride to school was leaving in two minutes.

For just a second, Ziggy was home again, standing at the top of the carpeted stairs in their pleasant, split-level house and contemplating whether or not to slide down the banister.

Then he shut the memories down, so hard and fast he almost gave himself a headache. When he opened his eyes again, there was only the cool metal of the base steps beneath his feet, and the empty common room, lit by wan fluorescents.

One of these days, he would open himself up to the memories again. He couldn't afford to now.

Sundays were especially hard, because by unspoken agreement Sundays had become a personal day for the team. Not that Venjix went to church and obeyed the "on the seventh day God rested" thing; they all had to stay alert, because the attack could come anywhere and at any time, as Doc K was fond of reminding them. But Flynn wanted a day to spend time with his dad, which had become Sunday, and Summer started leaving on Sundays, too, for time with her parents. The rest of them had no particular obligations, as Dillon didn't have anyone to visit and neither did Scott, since his dad always had military on the mind. Colonel Truman was about as likely to engage his son in a game of one-on-one basketball as he was to do his weekly "State of Corinth" addresses wearing nothing but a bow tie and a smile.

For the record, Ziggy had NOT come up with that particular illustration. Flynn had, and the ruckus that followed when he told it to Scott had been worthy of Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner.

Anyway, with empty Sundays at their disposal, Scott had introduced Dillon to the wonderful world of the Xbox 360, and the day had become host to the weekly Halo 5 tournament that could last anywhere from fifteen minutes to four hours, depending on how determined Dillon was to see if he could somehow manage to kill Scott's character once he'd killed everyone else. Doctor K sometimes wandered in to comment on how comforting it was to see Series Red and Series Black playing a video game that was essentially their actual lives. Usually, she let them go, but earlier that day she had kidnapped Dillon outright, proclaiming it necessary to use the extra time to scan the hell out of him and try to get a handle on his wacko chip. She hadn't phrased it in those exact words, but that was essentially what was happening, so he was tied up and Scott had no doubt wandered off to his favorite couch for a nap. As for Ziggy, he had found other ways to fill his Sundays.

He had Places to Be now. And his first order of business -- find Scott.

Scott was discovered on the tweed couch in the back storage room, sprawled out on his back with earbuds in and iPod resting on his chest. Scott had proclaimed the ragged, shapeless sofa the most comfortable couch left in existence and threw a fit when the doc tried to throw it out, so now his naps took place among storage crates and extra lamps. Scott was almost too tall for the couch, his neck crooked on one armrest and his ankles on the other, but he seemed blissful, eyes closed and a smile gracing his face

Ziggy folded his arms along the back of the couch and leaned forward, wondering if he was asleep. "Scott."

Nothing.

"Scott!"

Still nothing.

Ziggy bent his knees and lifted his feet off the ground, carefully balancing on his elbows against the sagging cushions as he leaned further down. A few more inches and he would lose his balance and somersault directly onto Scott's stomach. That would not be good for a whole slew of reasons, but Scott remained peacefully oblivious. Finally, Ziggy sighed and jabbed him in the shoulder, and this time, his eyes fluttered open in surprise. He squinted, blinked, and then finally settled himself into a bemused expression as he peered up at Ziggy looming above. "Hey."

"I'm leaving," Ziggy said, patting the shoulder strap of his backpack for good measure.

"You heading out?" Scott asked.

Ziggy frowned at him for a moment before realizing that Scott still had his earbuds in. He waved a hand, motioning for Scott to remove them, and when he did Ziggy could hear a loud and tinny guitar solo blaring from the tiny speakers. "Yeah. Call me if you need me."

"Go tell Doctor K," Scott ordered.

Ziggy made a face. "What for?"

"You know the rules," Scott replied, putting the earphones back in.

"Yeah, but I just told you. Can't you tell her?"

"Go," he smirked, and settled back.

So Ziggy dragged himself to the lab with reluctance. "I'm leaving," he yelled in, hanging onto the doorframe and not even looking inside the room. "Don't hold dinner, okay?"

The doc's voice floated back to him, distracted and dry. "As you wish."

Somewhat surprised at the lack of a zinger at his expense, Ziggy glanced into the lab. Doctor K was perched at her familiar desk, studying readouts on her computer screen. A bored and clearly restless Dillon sat across from her on the lab table, fingers drumming against the metal. He was wearing an exquisite scowl, and Ziggy grinned. "You two having fun?"

"A blast," Dillon muttered.

"I expect you to be within easy communication of this base, Series Green," Doctor K interjected, her eyes never leaving the screen before her. "We're still missing eight grinders from our Venjix encounter yesterday, and they do not possess the necessarily intelligence to remain in hiding for long. Should a circumstance arise where the team is required to mobilize--"

"Yeah yeah yeah," Ziggy said impatiently, and lifted his left wrist to tap his morpher. "I'm around."

"Is Series Red driving you?"

"Series Red is in the middle of a personal Jimi Hendrix concert," Ziggy said. That earned him his first glance; the doc looked up and stared at him blankly. Ziggy considered a brief backtrack to the annals of rock history for her, then thought better of it. "Uh, no, he's not. I'm going to walk."

Her eyes narrowed a fraction. "If Venjix attacks the city while you're gone, are you planning to walk back to the base as well?"

"Maybe?"

"Excellent." She turned her frown back to the monitor in front of her. "You'll arrive just in time to be of absolutely no help to your teammates." She hesitated, expression turning thoughtful. "Not that you're ever of great help when--"

"Wait, wait," he interrupted. "You had it right the first time, doc. How about I just teleport back if there's trouble, okay?"

"You'll waste valuable energy and resources on a teleportation here when you're preparing to go into battle?"

Ziggy pressed his temple against the doorframe and looked at her balefully. This, of course, was exactly why he tried to avoid these conversations. "You want me to get a ride, I assume?"

She sighed. "This would not be an issue if you would simply acquire a driver's license, Series Green."

"You obviously haven't tapped into the Department of Motor Vehicles database."

She pinned him with a cool gaze that betrayed no hint of curiosity, but he could see her left hand creeping towards the keyboard of a nearby laptop, fingers itching. "And why do you say that?"

"Because you wouldn't suggest I need a license. Not if you knew all the stuff I've plowed into AND over during my tests."

"You know what? I'm going to drive him," Dillon said, sliding off the table.

"We're not finished here, Series Black."

"I know, but my head's going to explode if I have to listen to this much longer. Besides, you said yourself it could take an hour to analyze that data."

"You sure you don't mind?" Ziggy asked curiously. "You don't even know where I'm going."

"I don't care where you're going."

Doctor K dismissed them both with a snort, and Ziggy was hopping into Dillon's car a moment later, wincing when his feet went ankle-deep in tools, metal contraptions and junk on the floorboard. "Jeez, Dillon, you need to clean this crap out," he observed, gingerly tapping at a small pile with the edge of his sneaker. "Will any of these things blow up if I kick them?"

"No," Dillon replied, sliding smoothly behind the wheel before taking a quick glance at the mess. "Wait," he added, and leaned down to fish out a cylindrical object. Ziggy eyed it suspiciously as Dillon stuck it into the cup holder. "There. Now you're okay."

"Thanks," Ziggy said dryly.

Dillon turned over the engine and was easing out of the garage a moment later, squinting into the blinding sunlight. "Where are we going?"

Ziggy dangled an arm out the window. "Seventeenth Street."

"Where on Seventeenth?"

"The orphanage."

Dillon shot him a quick look. "The one with the kids?"

Ziggy tried not to smile. Dillon made it so _easy_, sometimes. "Most orphanages do tend to have kids, you know."

"I mean the kids you helped. Back when you were with the cartel?"

"Yeah."

Dillon looked at him again, quizzically, and Ziggy was about to warn him to keep his eyes on the road when he spoke again. "I didn't know you'd gone back there. Since everything went down, you know."

"Yeah, I try to get over there every now and again. The kids actually doing really well," he added. "A lot better than before. They just needed the right kind of medicine, really." He propped an elbow against the window and let his eyes drift over downtown Corinth, idly watching the city go by.

"How often do you go?"

"Once a week... maybe every couple of weeks. Depends on how busy we are."

Dillon shot him another side glance, and although Ziggy only caught it from the corner of his eye, it looked almost appreciative. "You know... that was really something that you did, Ziggy. A lot of those kids might not have made it if it wasn't for you."

He shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. "Whatever. They needed help, so I helped." It sounded like something Dillon himself would say, and apparently, his friend got the message, as they lapsed into companionable silence broken only by Ziggy's directions. A few wrong turns later, Ziggy had forgotten all about his discomfort and was glaring openly across the seat at Dillon. "What is wrong with you? That street was one way in the _other_ direction, Dillon."

"Hey, I didn't grow up in Corinth," he protested. "I don't know where I'm going."

"I didn't grow up here, either, but I still manage to follow street signs. And I'm the one who can't get a driver's license."

Dillon smirked at him. "Here's a question for you."

"What?"

"Fresno Bob."

Ziggy made a face. The less time spent on that fat, pasty bastard, the better. "What about him?"

"Aren't you worried he'll put two and two together with the kids? You know, if you visit often enough, and he sees them getting better?"

"Nah, he won't come within a mile of me now," Ziggy said dismissively, then took a moment to savor how good that sounded. He grinned, and got his swagger on a little. "He still trails me every now and again, but he wouldn't dare do anything. He knows better than to mess with me."

Dillon nodded sagely. "Doctor K and her get-naked gun scared the crap out of him, huh?"

"No," he said, irritated. "He knows I'm a Ranger, that's all. He knows better than to mess with that, or anything close to me either. It's like being a mob boss now."

"That's not something you should aspire to."

"I don't... but I'm not gonna lie and say it stinks to be feared." He grinned.

Dillon rolled his eyes.

They pulled up in front of the orphanage a few minutes later, and as always, Ziggy took a moment to appreciate the worn wooden shutters, generous windows and tangles of honeysuckle and poplar vine crowding against the foundation. "Lead the way," Dillon said, and Ziggy followed the path he knew well to the front door. His knock was answered by an older, plump woman in a gray dress and wide white apron, and her kind face immediately broke into a welcoming smile. "Ziggy," she said, and pulled him into a hug. "So good to see you."

"You too," he said, briefly returning the hug before stepping back. "This is my friend, Dillon. Dillon, this is Mrs. Valentine... she runs the place."

Dillon smiled politely and shook her hand. "Nice to meet you, ma'am."

She nodded, still smiling. "Come on in, the both of you."

Walking inside the orphanage was like stepping back in time, and Ziggy had to remind himself not to let his fingers trail across the end tables or grasp the ornate banister as they passed the stairs. There was something reassuring about the detail in the old house, and he let his eyes wander across the scarred hardwoods and crown molding that richly decorated each small room. As they made their way along the narrow hallway, Ziggy noticed the small, bright-eyed faces peering at him from around almost every corner, and he smiled. "There sure are a lot of kids here," Dillon said from behind him, apparently having spotted them as well. He sounded a bit uncomfortable, and Ziggy wondered with faint irritation exactly what Dillon had expected to find at an orphanage, anyway.

"It's due to the evacuation," Mrs. Valentine explained. "That, and..." Her voice faded, and she glanced at Ziggy with hesitation.

"And what?" Dillon asked.

"The families that got split up," Ziggy said, giving a small nod of reassurance to Mrs. Valentine. "You know, some of the kids made it in without their parents, and they needed somewhere to go."

"We're trying to place them with Corinth families, but as you can imagine that's a pretty slow process," Mrs. Valentine added. "I'm just thankful that everyone's back on the road to good health, thanks to Ziggy."

A little boy with dark eyes attached himself to Ziggy's ankle, halting their progress, and another boy of about eight slipped up to their side. "Hey," Ziggy greeted him. "This is my friend, Dillon. And you're… it's Kevin, right?"

The boy nodded, swallowing as he peered up at Dillon. "Is, um... is that your car out front?"

"Yeah," Dillon said, and smiled. "You like cars?"

He nodded shyly.

"Come on. I'll show it to you if you want."

Moments later, Dillon was leading a small army of excited boys to the yard, a bemused smile on his face as they tumbled after him. Grinning herself, Mrs. Valentine drew Ziggy into a front room. A card table in the center was piled high with laundry and towels. "Mind helping me fold?"

"Nah, I'm all for it," he replied, shucking his backpack into a corner.

"I like to stay where I can keep an eye on the younger ones when they go out," she added, glancing out the window at the expanse of yard and street. "Not that there's too much trouble they can get into, but once a mom, always a mom, I guess."

"They'll be fine with Dillon." Ziggy picked up a towel to fold.

"Thanks for coming out," she said. "The kids always love to see you."

"It's no problem. I like stopping by when I can."

"Your friend seems very nice. What's his name again?"

"Dillon."

"Dillon what?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, and then realized how odd that might sound to someone without the basic facts. "He has amnesia, actually. I don't think he knows either."

"Ah," she said, unruffled as always. Mrs. Valentine was hard to shake; she had seen a hell of a lot. "Can he remember anything at all?"

Ziggy chose his words carefully. "Sort of. Little snippets of... well, it's hard to tell what's real and what isn't for him."

She nodded. "It hasn't been easy for anyone this past year. So what about you? How do you like being a Power Ranger?"

"Well, you were right about it getting easier," he admitted. "And they haven't kicked me out yet, so. Well, they probably would have, but I'm genetically bonded to this thing so they pretty much have to take what they can get. And they did try to kick me out a few months ago, but that was actually a misunderstanding. What?"

Mrs. Valentine was grinning at him. "You remind me so much of your mother."

"Um," he replied, and could feel himself blushing, furious heat rising to his cheeks. "Really?"

She nodded. "And she and I used to fold laundry like this for hours, too. Do you remember?"

"Sure, back when I was a kid. She used to take the whole family here on Sundays when she volunteered. I remember teaching the other kids to burp."

Mrs. Valentine laughed out loud, catching the towel she was folding up to her chest. "A talent they have passed on faithfully to each other, by the way," she told him fondly, and suddenly her sympathetic hand was lying over his own, gentle. "I know they're out there somewhere."

He shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah."

"You know the colonel thinks there could be thousands of people locked out. They could still be in Elmfield, or maybe in one of the shelters between here and there. You'll find them again; I'm sure of it."

"Maybe," he said softly. He wasn't listening too closely, as the memories were beginning to knock restlessly against the insides of his skull and it was hard to hear over the curious echoing sounds they made in his head, haunted and hopeless. His eyes found the window, and he saw that Kevin was now sitting in the driver's seat of Dillon's car, neck craned to see above the steering wheel. The smile on his face was brilliant, and Dillon was crouched down beside the door, pointing out who knew what as the boy sawed the wheel back and forth. "Sometimes, though... I can't help but know where he's coming from."

"Who? The colonel?"

"Dillon," Ziggy said, nodding at the scene outside. "Like I said, he can't remember a lot, but he's sure there's somebody out in the wasteland that he's supposed to find, too."

"And he decided to stay despite that?"

"Yeah."

"Well," she said, and gave his hand a little squeeze before letting it go. "I can only imagine how proud your parents will be of that choice. If it's even half as proud as I am, they'll be bursting," she added. Her eyes were shining at him fondly. "Who would have thought it? Ziggy Grover, a Power Ranger."

"I know," he said, chuckling a little despite himself. "But I'm not a very good one. I almost got killed a couple of weeks ago."

"What do you mean?"

Memories of his run-in with Necroxis were enough to quiet the knocking inside his head, and so he took to them with relish, describing the ill-fated battle that had wrapped up with one stabbed Ranger (that was Flynn), one unconscious and bloodied Ranger (that was him), and one beheaded robot (that was Necroxis, thanks to Scott). She listened closely, concern lining her face, and looked when he showed her the cut on his arm. It was knitted closed and more than halfway healed, but the cut itself had formed a deep scar, still pink and sore even now. "It's hard to keep up," he admitted to her. He didn't think he could have said it to anyone else. "I don't think... I don't know that the others get scared like I do."

"I'm sure they do," she said gently. "Who doesn't get scared?"

"They just seem to know what they're doing. Like, second nature or something," he added. "I don't know what I'm doing. I never have."

"Ziggy," she began, but was interrupted by a burst of static from his wrist, as the communicator in his morpher clicked to life. She looked at it in surprise as Ziggy flicked his eyebrows at her and engaged the activation button.

Doctor K's voice came to him clearly. "Series Green, come in."

"Here, doc," he replied. "What's up?"

"I'm tracking the missing grinders very close to your location. Can you get a visual?"

"You're reading them here?" he asked, turning back toward the window. He didn't need to ask anything after that, because the sunlight was glinting off the silver armor of grinders spilling into the orphanage's front yard. He saw at least five, and one had wrapped a metal arm around Dillon's neck from behind, wrestling him back away from the car as a second snatched the screaming boy out, dangling him up in the air and squinting at him with what looked like vague curiosity.

Ziggy forgot about the doc immediately; forgot about everything, in fact, except the collection of swarming bad guys littering the grass. "Back up," he ordered tersely, and Mrs. Valentine stumbled away from the table, putting her back again the door as Ziggy expertly activated his morpher. "RPM, get in gear!" he said sharply.

The morphing process was something he normally enjoyed, because it was like getting swept off your feet into a cloud of lightning, with all of the pyrotechnics and sugar rush but none of the electrocution. Today, however, Ziggy barely even felt the power levels rising around him, and he only waited the three heartbeats it took for the suit to seal his body before he had one foot on the windowsill and was pushing off, leaping out into the thick summer air and tucking himself into a neat somersault. It was amazing, the crap the suit let him do. Half the time he felt like he had morphed into a trapeze artist instead of a Ranger, although it really wasn't so different. Summer was still trying to convince him that he could do a lot of these moves without the suit, now, but since a pretty large portion of himself suspected that Flynn was putting her up to that just so they could watch him fall flat on his face, he'd declined to give it a try. Maybe one of these days, though. Only when nobody else was looking.

The grinders never saw him coming, and thus it was one of the easier battles Ziggy had ever had. It was a lot like the practice sessions in the base with the older models. The first order of business was to rescue Kevin, which was fairly easy since the grinder's hands were full of the screaming eight-year-old (one popped fist to the face, and be quick enough to catch the kid; that was all it amounted to). The toughest part came afterward, since the boy immediately wound himself around Ziggy for dear life. Still, the grinders weren't much of a challenge, so he managed to fight with just one arm, wrapping the other around the kid for protection. At one point he took a quick look at Dillon to make sure he was handling the fight all right, but of course he needn't have bothered to even check. Dillon had already flipped his attacker neatly over his head and now seemed more concerned about protecting his car from dents than anything else.

A few moments later, Ziggy and Dillon were standing in the litter of eight shattered grinders. Ziggy powered down, blinking into the afternoon sunlight as his helmet vanished, and he grinned at Kevin, who stared up at him wide-eyed. "You okay, partner?"

"Yeah," the little boy managed. "That was... that was SO cool!"

"It was," Ziggy agreed, and set him down. He turned to look at Dillon, who was leaning back against his car with his arms folded. It was then Ziggy noticed that he hadn't bothered to morph, and was wearing something of a triumphant smirk. "What?" Ziggy demanded. "I'm not jumping out of windows on my own. I'd end up landing head-first in the bushes."

"I didn't say anything," Dillon replied innocently.

Their attention was diverted by a small swarm of kids flooding out into the front yard, chattering and exclaiming as they rushed to him and Dillon, staring in awe at the remains of the grinders and practically bouncing with excitement. Mrs. Valentine stood in the midst of them, her warm smile all for Ziggy. "Not a very good Power Ranger, huh?" she said mildly.

Dillon groaned. "He's not back on THAT again, is he?"

"No, I know," Ziggy interrupted. And he did understand, even though things hadn't worked out exactly as he thought they would. He didn't think there could be such a thing as a Power Ranger who wasn't a fighter or a leader, but somehow, it seemed to be okay. He was the best Ranger Green he knew how to be, and though it made no sense at all... somehow, it was enough.

And maybe when he did finally find his parents, that was something they really could be proud of.

----

**Author's Note:** It's so interesting how these stories never turn out the way I originally envision them. I guess that's what happens when the characters take the wheel. As an aside, this is SUCH a great song for Ziggy. I highly recommend checking it out. Hope you enjoyed the story, and thanks for your support. Remember to review, as your comments are the cookies that keep me alive. :) You didn't know you had all the power in this relationship, did you? Next up -- the one-shot "Just Like You," in which Ziggy decides to have some fun with Fresno Bob. See you then!


	10. Just Like You, pt 1

**Author's Note:** Good news – I'm not dead after all, even if the lack of updates to this fanfic might have led you to believe otherwise. I never meant for "Not Easy Being Green" to linger this long without an update, but Real Life came after me with a vengeance about a month ago and is only just now letting me settle back into something resembling normalcy. I apologize for the delay.

I've gotten some questions as to how long this fanfic is going to be once completed. At this point, I think there will be ten more one-shots, including today's, but across how many chapters they'll ultimately stretch across is anyone's guess. For example, today's update was designed to be a single chapter, but then I got itchy to post at least a taste of what I was working on, and presto – a two-parter was born. What it all boils down to is that I've got some writing to do, so be sure to subscribe if you don't want to miss anything.

One last bit of housekeeping before we get to it. This story is another installment in the "Not Easy Being Green" universe, which at this point has pretty much branched off into its own timeline. I hung in there and matched up my writing with the series as long as I could (up through the events of episode 11, "Doctor K"), but I'm interested in exploring some ideas beyond the Dillon/Tenaya 7 arc that the series is going after, so don't be surprised if Tenaya 7 fades into the background a little or if Gem and Gemma don't show up for a while (if ever – they get on my nerves). Also, this story has a prequel of sorts in a one-shot I did a month ago called "If You've Ever Been Alone, You'll Know." Some readers were clamoring for a sequel to that, and since my ideas there pretty much mirrored my ideas for _this_ story, I'm knocking out two requests with a single post. You don't have to read IYEBAYK to understand what's going on here, but if you like hurt!Ziggy and protective!Dillon schmoop, it may be worth your time.

Insert disclaimer here, and on with the show!

* * *

**Just Like You, pt. 1**

"_Feeling the moment slip away  
Losing direction; you're losing faith  
You're wishing for someone  
Feeling it all begin to slide  
Am I just like you?"  
_-- Feeder, "Feeling a Moment"

It was a beautiful day in Corinth, but all the days were beautiful, anymore. That was part of the allure of living underneath a gigantic metal dome. Colonel Truman's weather technology, managed by a pair of military climate experts with doctoral degrees but created in one afternoon by the doc, guaranteed that the days were comfortable and the evenings crisp, and rain always came and went on an exact schedule. All in all, it was a remarkably reliable system (with the small but notable exception of that one Sunday a few weeks ago when the software responsible for projecting realistic images of a cloud-kissed blue sky overhead accidentally went to screensaver and started projecting photos of somebody's wedding reception instead). Corinth City had run the Weather Channel out of business, that was for sure.

Or maybe they could all blame Venjix for that.

Whatever the case, it was a beautiful day, and Corinth's pretty little Cherry Street Market was the place to me. All around him, young people and families bustled and laughed, some ducking into the colorful shop fronts while others settled into sidewalk cafes for an early dinner. For his part, however, Ziggy hardly noticed. The cheerful slant of sunlight at his back cast his dusky shadow against the cobblestone before him, and he kept his morose gaze upon it, sweaty hands loose in his pockets and head bowed low. Scott had warned him against just that sort of thing when he walked around in public (_"You're a Power Ranger, for God's sake; act like it!"_), but he got lost inside his own head sometimes, and it was hard to remember that jaunty, self-confident walk and winning smile that Scott had spent an entire afternoon trying to teach him. Ziggy figured that sort of attitude came naturally to someone who learned to fly a fighter jet at sixteen and whose father was an army colonel and who now served as judge, jury and executioner in the only intact town left on the planet. It did not come naturally to a skinny, seventeen-year-old amateur magician who counted volunteering at the old folks' home on Sundays and the ownership of six thousand, three hundred and eighty-four mint-condition comic books as among his life's crowning achievements.

Besides, he had more important things to worry about. Actually, just one important thing. An overweight, heavy-jowled thing that was waiting for him at one of the cafes.

Ziggy gulped, and he might have turned back on the spot had his feet not already been locked into resigned and reluctant autopilot.

The invitation had come three days before, from a telephone call that was routed through at least three different secretaries on the colonel's staff before finally making its way to Doctor K's desk. She had listened silently, her right eyebrow slowly inching up towards her hairline, before she finally took the receiver from her ear and wordlessly pointed it at Ziggy. She had one of the old phones with a cord, so he draped himself over half her desk to take the call, smirking at her and expecting the usual collection of huffs and glares that came when he dared to get within six feet of her personal space. Instead, she simply watched him, and with puzzlement he lifted the phone. "Hello?"

"Ziggy Grover? This is Icepick Pete. You remember me?"

His stomach dropped, plummeting to the level of his knees, and his hands went cold. "Uh… who were you looking for again?"

"Don't play games with me, kid. Fresno Bob wants an audience with you. Saturday, five o'clock. Camille's Sidewalk Café in the Cherry Street Market. And he just wants you – no friends, got it? We'll see you then."

"Wait; wait a second," he tried, but the voice was gone. He took the phone from his ear and blinked stupidly at it.

"Why was the Scorpion Cartel trying to get in touch with you?" Doctor K demanded, plucking the receiver away from him. She glared at it critically, as if some sort of scientific evidence could be gleaned from its dull plastic surface.

"My old boss wants a word with me," Ziggy managed. "Fresno Bob."

"What? Why?"

"I have no idea."

Her eyes narrowed. "How did he get this telephone number?"

"That," Ziggy replied, gripping at the edge of the desk, "is on the short list of things I'm actually _not_ worried about right now."

The call became the talk of the base over the next 24 hours, and it was a din that the doc joined in on once she finished tearing apart the base telephone system to reassure herself that the security was not compromised. Colonel Truman's theory was that Fresno Bob had finally gotten wise to the poorly coordinated undercover work Ziggy had engaged in at the colonel's insistence during his first few weeks with the team, trying to keep himself just close enough to learn what he could but just far enough away that the mobsters wouldn't recognize his skinny frame or corkscrew hair. In the end, Colonel Truman had decided the risk wasn't worth the meager information Ziggy was able to bring back, and they'd put a halt to it – but not before Ziggy got a black eye and three cracked ribs for his trouble. "That has to be it," the colonel had said, leaning forward on his desk and frowning cryptically at the transcript – just a single page – of the conversation between Ziggy and Icepick Pete. "Fresno Bob wants it known that he didn't appreciate us meddling in mob business. Ziggy would be the natural one for him to go after."

Dillon was leaning against the far wall, his trademark scowl firmly in place. "I'm not so sure I like the phrase 'go after,' Colonel."

"Ziggy's not in any danger," Summer said, glancing at Doctor K for confirmation. "I wouldn't think so, at least. Nobody in their right mind would attack a Power Ranger. Fresno Bob knows better than that."

"Series Green should be able to defend himself if necessary," the doc agreed curtly. "But Fresno Bob's motivations may well have something to do with Corinth's military – as well as our Ranger Series program – becoming a threat to his operations."

"No way," Flynn replied, folding his arms across his chest. "It can't be that, y'know? Fresno Bob knew we were poking around months ago. If he wanted to get a message across about it, he would've done it then. There's no reason for him to wait this long."

"Well, what about the money, then?" Summer asked. "Could he be going after the five million dollars?"

"I don't know why that would matter," Dillon shrugged. "It's not like he can take it to Vegas."

"Principle," Ziggy muttered, and all eyes in the room turned to where he stood at the back of the room, pressing one bony shoulder into the wall and toying idly with the leaves of a plastic plant beside him. "He doesn't like being made a fool of. I did it once when I stole the truck, and I did it again when I took on the Series Green powers."

"Not to mention making him look like an idiot in front of the rest of the cartels when Doctor K rescued you and blew everyone's clothes off with that nudie gun of hers," Flynn added with a grin.

Summer shot him a curious glance. "You weren't even there when that happened."

"I live vicariously."

"So maybe Fresno Bob is looking to reestablish some sort of control? Some power?" the colonel ventured.

Scott turned to study Ziggy, and the corners of his mouth quirked up into a wicked grin. "Or maybe he just wants to knock the crap out of you," he suggested.

And that was probably the most logical of all theories presented.

In the end, it had been agreed upon that Ziggy would go, although Dillon was clearly not happy about it. He'd expressed as much later than night, dragging Ziggy into a corner of the deserted garage and looming over him there, describing in clipped and tense adjectives what the Scorpion Cartel would undoubtedly do to their favorite Ranger if they got even half a chance. Dillon's eyes were glimmering in the dimness, and if Ziggy hadn't known better he would have thought the emotion edging them was fear.

Except he did know better, and he'd wrenched his arm away to rest a shaking hand against the tool box next to him. "Dillon, it's going to be fine. I need to find out what he's after now. It could be important for the city—"

"You _don't_ have to find out what he wants," Dillon snapped back. "He's either going to intimidate you or try to attack you, and that's bullshit either way. It's a waste of your time. And going alone is _complete_ bullshit. We're a team. We don't leave each other behind."

"I started this alone," he replied softly, distracted by the memories that drew up out of the darkness to huddle close against the base of his mind.

Dillon backed off a little then, his expression cloaked by shadows. "What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing," Ziggy sighed, and with no small inflection of regret. After all, this wasn't about keeping his bones in one piece or ducking punches. It was about a chapter of his past that he had thought long closed, back in the days when cartels seemed sexy and cool, and certainly a fantastic alternative to junior college. It was about the days when he had hurt people because that was what mobsters did, and it was about a cold, sharp intimidation from the likes of Fresno Bob that he'd never before known and hoped to never know again.

But in the end, Dillon had backed down with his trademark reluctance, and with the doc and the colonel practically shooing him out the door, here he stood in the Cherry Street Market, a lone smear of darkness and worry against the sweet, sunlit afternoon.

Ziggy lifted his head. There were some children laughing up ahead, and a woman in a blue dress selecting a bouquet of tulips and yellow sunflowers from a sidewalk vendor. Just beyond her stood a broad-shouldered man in a neat three-piece suit, his bald head gleaming in the afternoon sun and black glasses shading his eyes. He was standing outside of Camille's Sidewalk Café, but he was looking directly at Ziggy, and his smile might have been warm and welcoming if Ziggy hadn't known better. Oh, did he know better.

"Ziggy," the man called, and motioned him closer. "Good to see you again."

Ziggy didn't move, and kept his hands in his pockets so no one would see them shake. "Wish I could say the same about you, Pete."

Icepick Pete took a step back towards the edge of the sidewalk, and nodded towards the wide glass doors behind him. "Boss took a table inside. He's waiting for you."

Ziggy still didn't move. "That's great."

Icepick Pete's smile faded, just a little. "You coming, or do you want me to escort you in?"

"I'm coming," he muttered, and lifted his chin before better judgment could kick in, squaring his shoulders and stepping inside.

He was a Power Ranger, for God's sake, and he would act like it.

* * *

More to come. Please leave a review on your way out if you're so inclined... I love reading your suggestions and ideas.


	11. Just Like You, pt 2

**Author's Note: **I find it amusing that on the day I finally get this update finished and ready for you guys, this site goes down. The fates are conspiring to keep us apart. The site is apparently still screwed up, but my friends at Live Journal showed me a back door. Anyway, apologies for the delay. I'll do better, swear. Also, I own nothing.

On a side note, how cute was today's episode, "The Dome Dolls"? First person who writes me a one-shot about what else Ziggy learned in prison gets a free sneak preview of my next chapter, "Lonely Soul." As well as cookies. And my love. Oh, the love. And yes, I'm serious. Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

**Just Like You, pt. 2**

Camille's Sidewalk Café was one of Corinth City's most popular eateries, because it was one of the few places where you could almost forget that 99.9% of human life had ended two years before. The small corner restaurant had generous windows with a cross breeze that kept the dining room light and airy, and it also boasted the only saltwater fish tank in Corinth, so children and adults alike would stand for hours, doing nothing but staring at the beauty of brightly colored angelfish and clownfish darting amongst the coral.

And, given that it was such a pretty location, that meant it wasn't hard at all for Ziggy to find Fresno Bob.

He stuck out like a sore thumb, as he always did, parked at a side table for two with a clear view of the door. A large white napkin was tucked into the button-down shirt he wore under a casual gray jacket, and he was already halfway through a plate of spaghetti and meatballs, slurping luxuriously at the pasta. Ziggy studied him from the doorway for a moment, swallowing, then took a quick glance back over his shoulder. He was relieved to discover that Icepick Pete hadn't followed him inside, although if he knew his mobster etiquette (and he did), Pete's job would now be to linger on the sidewalk and keep an eyeball on the door in case Ziggy tried to bolt. There was always at least one level of protection when it came to Fresno Bob, though it was nice that he didn't have some goon trying to blend in with the potted plants in the corner.

Clearing his throat lightly and trying to look much calmer than he felt, Ziggy walked briskly up to the table. Fresno Bob glanced up, and his face broke into a marinara-smeared, genuine smile that startled him. "Uh… am I running late?" Ziggy managed.

"No, no," Fresno Bob reassured, waving him to the opposite chair. Ziggy sat down lightly on the edge, twisting his hands in his lap. "I'm actually a bit early – I missed lunch, so I decided to get a head start." He grinned. Flecks of black seasoning were caught in his teeth.

Ziggy looked away, over Fresno Bob's shoulder, and froze when he spotted a large man in a three-piece suit sitting just two tables away, sunglasses on and an untouched coffee on the table before him. "What – what is Stevie Beefs doing here?" Ziggy demanded, trying to keep his voice from rising to a Summer-esque pitch. This was officially Not Good.

Fresno Bob made a show of looking back over his shoulder, then grinned and returned his attention to his plate, waving a fork in dismissal. "You know my security comes with me wherever I go."

"But Icepick Pete's already outside! How many goons do you need?"

"So I have a guy inside, I have a guy outside," he shrugged, and bit into a breadstick. "What's the big deal?"

"The big deal?" Ziggy spluttered. He was now even more confident that this was going to end with his remains smeared across the neat cobblestones of the Cherry Street Market, and the only thing the janitors would need to clean up the mess would be a hose. "I thought we were coming by ourselves!"

"Correction. YOU were coming by yourself." Fresno Bob grinned.

Ziggy leaned forward. "Stevie Beefs has killed at least two guys that I know of, and that was just for looking at him wrong."

"So don't look at him. Nobody's getting killed, Ziggy. I just want to talk to you. Settle down," he added, and the last was delivered with enough of an edge that Ziggy forced his nervous muscles to go still, and he took in a shaky breath. Fresno Bob nodded his approval, and then used what was left of his breadstick to point at the menu lying in front of Ziggy. "Do you want something to eat? They've got a great selection here."

"I'm not hungry," Ziggy replied, thunking his arms down on the table. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Did I teach you nothing?" Fresno Bob mopped up the stray marinara on his plate with a wedge of bread and popped the whole thing into his mouth, leaning back in his chair to observe Ziggy cryptically as he chewed and swallowed. "Since when do you show up at a business discussion and ignore the particulars? These are the finer things, Ziggy. This is what established and respected businessmen do."

Ziggy eyed the plate, mostly empty now. "They order spaghetti?"

Fresno Bob waved down a petite young waitress, who drifted over with a 100-watt smile. "Hon, would you at least bring him an ice water? The kid's getting on my nerves," he added, somewhat fondly, and the waitress nodded sympathetically before moving away. "You know, you could stand to eat something, Ziggy. I can't believe a stiff wind doesn't knock you over as it is."

Ziggy fought the urge to run his fingers through his tangled curls in frustration. "Is that why you asked me to come here? To discuss diet tips?"

Fresno Bob sighed. "All right, fine. You want to talk business, we'll talk business."

"Please," Ziggy agreed, halfway satisfied, and sat back. "Now listen, if this is about—"

"I'll do the talking," Fresno Bob interrupted, untucking the napkin from his collar and dropping it lightly across his plate. Ziggy watched him with apprehension. "So… tell me what it's like to be a Power Ranger."

Of all the things Ziggy had expected to come out of Fresno Bob's mouth at that moment, "What it's like to be a Power Ranger" had been about as unlikely as "I would love for you to meet my daughter." Actually, he'd been expecting "You have three seconds to live," and as such he was already halfway up out of the seat, clutching the edge of the table for purchase, when the words registered and he blinked, confused. "…I'm sorry; what?"

Fresno Bob looked amused. "I want you to sit down and tell me what it's like to be a Power Ranger."

Awkwardly, Ziggy plopped back down in the chair and eyed his former boss. "You thinking of applying?"

"Are you capable of giving me a straight answer?"

"Yes, yes, of course," he sighed, and seized upon his napkin, worrying the edges between his fingertips. "Well, it's great. I mean, it's hard to get much better than defending the human race, you know."

"How exactly did it come about?" Fresno Bob leaned forward, elbows on the table and his fingers steepled. He looked… interested, and a warning light began to blink somewhere deep inside Ziggy's mind. "I'm sure it's a fascinating story."

Ziggy frowned. "You were there."

"I was having problems with the girl. The Venjix girl," he added.

"Ah. Well, she was trying to get the morpher for the final Ranger Series away from me, and—"

"How did you get it in the first place?" Fresno Bob's eyes had fallen upon the morpher, fastened securely to Ziggy's left wrist, and suddenly Ziggy felt the oppressive weight of its burden. It still amazed him, sometimes, that he had managed to stumble into the most important job in the world. "I never got that part of the story."

"Well, my friend Dillon is Series Black, and the plan was to make Tenaya 7 – that's your Venjix girl – Series Green. Except it turned out she's an infiltration bot, and I found out she was evil, so instead of giving the morpher to her I had to protect it, and… well, she's a tough cookie. I mean, I know she looks cute and sort of girly and all…" Ziggy hesitated to catch in a breath, and thanked his lucky stars Tenaya 7 wasn't around to pop his head off for that comment. "…But she packs a good punch, you know? I wound up having to bond with the morpher myself to keep her from getting it. It was the only way."

"And that bond is permanent," Fresno Bob finished. "You're a Ranger for life now."

"Right."

"So, I imagine there were some surprised faces among the other Rangers when you showed up with that." Fresno Bob leaned back in his chair, smiling warmly.

"Yeah," Ziggy replied, warming to the story himself. "Dillon had to do some major-league convincing to keep me as part of the team. It's not that they didn't want me; I just wasn't trained, you know?"

"Oh?" Fresno Bob's eyebrows raised in surprise. "I would've thought that they certainly didn't want you."

"Well," Ziggy said, and swallowed. "No, I guess that's right. It all worked out, though. It's really been amazing, actually. I mean, the Zords are something else, and it's just such a wild thing to get to do, you know?" He grinned, then caught himself – what the hell was he doing? This was Fresno Bob, not his dad. Swallowing, Ziggy shifted in his chair. "So, yeah, you know. It's going fine. 'Get in gear' and all that."

"It's an amazing story." Fresno Bob nodded his thanks to the waitress, who set a glass of ice water with lemon in front of Ziggy before moving on to another table. "So remarkable that it happened like it did."

"Yeah." Ziggy shifted. He had to keep his focus here… eyes on the prize and all that. This was just small talk, that was all. Surely Fresno Bob didn't give a flying crap about the Rangers. What could he be after? "Is this about the five million dollars?" Ziggy asked suddenly, thinking out loud. "Because I've decided to come clean about that," he added. "Remember that truck? The whole thing actually went over a cliff and exploded. It was crazy. See, what happened—"

"Ziggy, I don't care about the five million dollars," Fresno Bob said with a chuckle.

Okay, now something was REALLY wrong. "What?"

"I'm not done talking about this Power Rangers business," he said, folding plump arms across his generous middle. "It must have been hard, wasn't it? I mean, you were never much good in a fight as I recall."

"Well, no," Ziggy shrugged, his mind racing to figure out what on earth Fresno Bob could be getting at. He was more and more certain that this conversation would end with his sudden and messy death, and he rested a hand lightly on the table, fingers inching towards his fork. "But it's gotten easier. The others helped me out, y'know? They're my friends."

Fresno Bob fixed him with a level, knowing gaze. "Ziggy, how long have I known you?" he asked gently.

"Uh…"

"Years, Ziggy. I've known you for years, and I know when you're lying to me."

Ziggy blinked, and a cold grip of fear squeezed at his stomach. "What do you mean? I'm not lying."

"Well, I just find it a little hard to believe that the other Power Rangers were okay with the idea of you being their Series Green teammate. You're about as coordinated as a drunken moose. Am I right?"

"Yeah, I guess," Ziggy said, his laughter nervous. "They were pretty upset at first, that's true. But it worked out."

Fresno Bob leaned forward again, and Ziggy imperceptibly leaned back, bumping his knuckles against the handle of his fork and feeling a bit better for its proximity. "I heard about what happened with the Series Blue ranger last month."

Ziggy winced, and his eyes squeezed shut of their own volition. The memory leapt out at him, as vivid and sharp as the day it had happened…

_Flynn was on his knees facing Ziggy with both hands pressed flat against his helmet, body twisted forward and down as though in agonizing pain_

…But he was okay, and that was the important thing. Flynn was fine, and even though Ziggy could feel his heart lurching painfully within his chest at the unwanted memory, that was the important thing. "You heard about that, huh?" he muttered, mouth suddenly dry.

Fresno Bob nodded. "They've got to be angry about that, don't you think? I mean…" His eyes widened, as though to lend just that extra punch of drama to his words. "You almost got your teammate _killed_, Ziggy. What kind of a Power Ranger is that?"

He shuddered a little, involuntarily, and he could almost feel the three-inch scar in his right forearm, twisting deep and ugly into the flesh. "It was an accident. They all know that."

Fresno Bob stared him down. "Do they?"

Ziggy looked away, twisting his fingers in his lap. "Uh, Fresno Bob… what exactly is it that you wanted to talk to me about?"

"This," Fresno Bob said quietly. "Ziggy, I think it's high time you understood who your friends really are."

"What do you mean?"

"You lucked into being a Power Ranger," he said, shrugging. "I understand that. Hell of a break for a guy who's managed to destroy almost everything he's ever touched. But Ziggy, these Rangers aren't your friends, and you don't belong with them. Don't you understand that?"

"No," he replied, genuinely perplexed. "They _are_ my friends. They watch my back. We look out for each other."

"Don't you see that they're only being nice to you because of the Series Green powers? Ziggy, they _have_ to put up with you. You're too valuable to them. But they aren't your friends. Don't you realize that they would have sent you back to Corinth Prison ages ago if your bond to the powers wasn't permanent? It isn't you they want. And it isn't you they care about."

Ziggy's eyes wandered down to the morpher on his wrist, and he swallowed hard. "I don't think you're right about that, Fresno Bob."

"I think I am," he replied gently. "And I think you know it."

Ziggy gritted his teeth, blinking hard against the flood of emotion welling inside. He had been a screw-up his entire life; there was no getting around that. But he had thought, this time, that he had finally found the place where he belonged. What if he was wrong? What if… could Fresno Bob actually know what he was talking about for once? "Why are you telling me all this?" he managed.

"I want you to know that you do have true friends, Ziggy," Fresno Bob said. For some reason, Dillon's face appeared before Ziggy's eyes at that, and he shook his head once, sharply, to clear it. "There's a place for you."

"Where would that be?" he asked, distracted.

"The Scorpion Cartel. Where else?"

Stunned, Ziggy's head snapped up, and he stared into Fresno Bob's strangely compassionate eyes. "Are… you can't be serious. I stole five million dollars from you!"

"Forgotten," he replied easily, leaning back in his chair and waving away the money with a single, pudgy hand.

"I let your pet monkey escape. Twice."

"Forgotten," he said again, though his left eye twitched.

"I accidentally set your Armani suit on fire."

That elicited a wince, but Fresno Bob shook his head a third time. "It's water under the bridge, Ziggy. None of that is important to me. What _is_ important to me is you."

Ziggy slid his chair back a fraction, nervously. "Why?"

"You're like a son to me." His expression was actually sincere. "I mean that. I do. I want to start fresh with you. Let bygones be bygones. I want you to come back to the family, Ziggy. Where you belong."

Ziggy stared at him openly. "I thought you were inviting me here to kill me."

Fresno Bob laughed. "No, no. I just want you to realize who your true friends are. Don't you know that you're just like me? You remind me so much of how I was at your age. And we need you, Ziggy. The cartel is nothing without you. This is what you were born for."

"Did you know I spied on you?" Ziggy asked abruptly. "When I first joined the Rangers. I spied on you. How's that for loyalty?"

"I know you did. I told you, I'm willing to let that go." Fresno Bob waved a hand for the check, his pebbly eyes never leaving Ziggy's face. "The other Rangers don't appreciate you, Ziggy. You know that. What do you say?"

"But it's with the Rangers that I _do_ belong," he protested, twisting his hands into loose fists. "I know that."

And just like that, Fresno Bob's patience fractured. It was almost fascinating, because in less time than it took for Ziggy to take a breath, the mobster's face went from soft compassion to twisted anger, like a mask dropping off and falling to the floor. "Ziggy, you know they don't give a damn about you!" Fresno Bob snapped, the sudden venom in his voice making Ziggy's shoulders tighten reflexively. Several of the couples at nearby tables glanced over with alarm, and behind Fresno Bob, Stevie Beefs shifted in his seat. "How many times do I have to tell you that? Your place is with the cartel! I taught you everything you know, kid. It's time for you to come back to where you belong."

Ziggy swallowed. "If I mean so much to you, why have you never said anything before?"

Fresno Bob seemed to relax just a fraction, and he smiled, though the anger was still bright and snapping in his eyes. "You know how it is. You don't know what you've got until it's gone. I know what I want, Ziggy. I know what the cartel needs. It's you."

Ziggy looked up, pinning Fresno Bob with a cool, steady gaze. Where the confidence came from, he had no idea. "Is it me? Or…" He propped his elbows on the table, tapping the morpher with the fingers of his right hand. "Is it this?"

Fresno Bob snorted, but Ziggy saw his left eye twitch again. "I could give a damn about those powers."

Ziggy shook his head. "Let's not kid ourselves, Fresno Bob. You don't want me. You never have."

"That's not true."

"You tried to kill me," Ziggy said flatly. "On a number of occasions."

"I was misguided."

"I know who my real friends are," Ziggy snapped, and realized with detached surprise that he was now standing, glaring down at his former mob boss. "Listen, the other Rangers may think I'm an idiot most of the time, but at least they tell me as much. I know they care, so don't play games with me, Fresno Bob. It's my powers you want, and you're not getting them. I'm through with you."

Fresno Bob's face reddened, and his expression turned murderous. "Don't screw around with me, kid. Remember who you're talking to."

"I know exactly who I'm talking to," Ziggy replied. "The most worthless piece of shit in Corinth City."

Fresno Bob was up faster that Ziggy thought he could possibly move, and a fat hand snatched out to grab his wrist, squeezing at the bones painfully. "You ever speak to me that way again and it'll be the last thing you ever say," he warned darkly.

Ziggy snatched his hand back. He could see Stevie Beefs standing up. There was no doubt it was time to run, but somehow, his mouth wouldn't turn off. "You and your goons don't scare me," he hissed, and _that_ certainly wasn't true, but some long-suppressed, frustrated part of his brain had now taken over and was running free. "You want to see what happens if you attack a Power Ranger? I'll be happy to show you."

"This is your last chance, Ziggy. Your last one."

He laughed, dizzy with adrenaline. "What are you going to do? Tell me more stories about all the things I've screwed up?"

Fresno Bob's face was dark with anger. "Fine. Stay with the Rangers if you love them so much. But for God's sake, Ziggy, you owe me a debt. You can't forget what I've given you."

"What would that be?"

"I took you in," he snapped. "Gave you a place to belong. You owe me after all the aggravation you've put me through. My God, I even gave you a place to stay when your family died!"

Ziggy almost physically jerked with the impact of those words. "My family isn't dead," he hissed.

Fresno Bob looked at him skeptically. "Everyone is dead. It's been over a year."

"Well, I have a family here," he replied, tapping the morpher. "And it's them I answer to now, not you. The only thing you ever gave me was sixth months behind bars, and you can go to hell."

With that, Ziggy turned sharply and stomped out the door of the café. He didn't even think twice about shoving Icepick Pete out of the way. The afternoon was sunny and beautiful, and he marched with single-minded focus down the sidewalk, leaving Fresno Bob and his assorted goons behind.

The only thing he wanted to do now was find a place to throw up.

* * * * *

Icepick Pete blinked after Ziggy, who had his hands shoved into his pockets and his head bowed, moving swiftly away down the sidewalk. The mobster turned as Fresno Bob came lumbering up beside him, Stevie Beefs in his shadow. "Boss?"

"Go after him," Fresno Bob ordered.

"What do you want me to do? I can't fight a Power Ranger."

"He's only a Power Ranger when he's morphed," Fresno Bob snapped impatiently. "Go after him."

"And do what?"

Fresno Bob's eyes glittered with dark, sinister purpose. "Break his neck."

Icepick Pete shrugged and nodded, but had only taken a single step after Ziggy's narrow form when he was brought up sharply by a tall, ruggedly handsome young man in black, stepping silently out of a side alley. The young man stopped on the sidewalk, standing halfway between Icepick Pete and the retreating Ziggy, who remained oblivious. With a small, dangerous smile, the young man slid his sunglasses down his nose to deliver an icy glare, and when he did…

…Icepick Pete saw the morpher fastened to his left wrist.

Without a word, the young man turned and began following after Ziggy, keeping his distance. Within moments, both were lost in the market's late-day crowd.

Icepick Pete gulped. "Look boss, I know you pay well and all, but ain't nobody giving me enough money to tackle a Power Ranger. Morphed or otherwise. And now there's two of them."

"I was wondering who that kid was," Stevie Beefs muttered, stifling a burp with the back of his hand. "He was sitting over at the table by the door the whole time. Do you want me to try going after them?"

"Forget it. It isn't worth it." Fresno Bob gritted his teeth, and shook his head with a frustrated sigh. "I guess that little brat has friends after all."


	12. Lonely Soul

**Author's Note:** One day, I will write something other than angst. I do not own these characters, but I do return them to their rightful places after I've finished beating them up. This episode draws an important reference from "Go for the Green." The story that unfolds in this chapter is actually the original idea that sparked the entire "Not Easy Being Green" series, and it will continue to be a major plot point throughout the remainder of this piece. Also, to those of you who subscribe, apologies if you received two notifications... I always manage to screw the upload process up somehow. Enjoy!

* * *

**Lonely Soul**

_  
"Do you know what your fate is?  
Are you trying to shake it?  
You're doing your best dance, your best look  
You're praying that you make it..."  
_-- OneRepublic, "Say (All I Need)"

Phone calls at 4 a.m. were never good.

Well, okay, there had been that one time Benny got drunk with Johnny Crackhead and they had called to wish him a Happy New Year about three months too early. That had been pretty darned funny after Ziggy woke up enough to appreciate it.

But usually, phone calls at 4 a.m. were bad, because they meant one of Corinth's security patrols hadn't come back, or that the perimeter sensors had just been blasted to hell by Venjix's latest robot creation and if Ziggy so much as thought about pulling his pillow over his head, Scott would kick open the door and drag his scrawny, half-naked butt into the Doc's lab as-is, which would have been embarrassing except Ziggy was guaranteed to still be mostly asleep. The team would assemble slowly, yawning and rubbing at bleary eyes, and Doc K (who somehow always seemed to be sharp as a tack no matter the hour) would let fly with crisp instructions. Before he knew it, Ziggy would be standing out in the cool, crisp Corinth morning, weaving unsteadily on his own feet, trying to comprehend the orders Scott was barking out and wondering what he'd done to deserve being awake before even the dawn programming routine had begun.

Phone calls at 4 a.m. were also bad because he couldn't quite wake up fast enough to comprehend them. For Ziggy, waking up had always been a lengthy and rather involved process, made slower by the fact that he usually didn't want to make the trip in the first place. Assuming he could even find the phone, he then had to figure out where he was, and get his eyes open so he put the correct end of the receiver against his ear, and then he had to actually start listening, which always kicked in at least thirty seconds after whoever was on the other end had started to talk. Then he had to interrupt to figure out what in hell was going on anyway, and since phone calls at 4 a.m. were usually of a time-sensitive nature to begin with, that rarely went over well.

The whole thing was especially bad when said phone calls came from someone like Doc K.

"Do not hang up," she warned immediately, and Ziggy couldn't even comprehend the oddness of that particular greeting since he had snorted awake face-down in his pillow, sheet tangled around his ankles and blankets kicked off to the floor. Somehow, perhaps out of habit, he had gotten his hand around the receiver and lifted the phone to his ear, but he was only vaguely aware of it. The voice speaking to him was muddled and distant, and he had no idea who it was.

"Series Green," it said insistently.

He tried to answer, but it came out as a croak.

"Series Green!"

"What?" he mumbled. It was possible that this was nothing more than a nightmare brought on by too much of Flynn's chicken and black olive pizza.

"Wake up!"

Ziggy had never heard a voice so shrill, tinny and pissed all at once. Whoever was calling him was either a Martian on a crappy interplanetary phone connection or an escapee from Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. Or both.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Ziggy pulled the phone away from his ear and noticed blearily that he was holding the receiver upside down. He corrected that, dropping it only once in the process, and when he lifted it back to his ear it was much better. He could hear, quite clearly, a female voice huffing in indignation on the other end of the line. Twisting to peer at the clock, he saw the numbers "4:02" glaring back in bright red numbers. He'd heard about something called the wee hours of the morning, but had done his best to never experience them firsthand.

"Ranger Operator Series Green!"

He jumped. The voice was much louder now that he had the proper end of the phone up against his ear. "What?"

"I need you to come downstairs into the lab," the voice said, then sighed. It sounded unhappy. He recognized the sound, the voice, but couldn't place it. "I know you are only five hours into your sleep cycle after yesterday evening's festivities--"

"Summer?" But what would Summer be calling him for? Her room was down the hall, and she had never used the phones that he could remember. In fact, nobody ever used the old phone system in the base except for the doc, and that was because she was paranoid that any technology advanced enough to wake someone in a civilized manner, like vid screens and wrist communicators, was also advanced enough to be tracked by Venjix. She was the most paranoid teenager he'd ever run across.

"It's Doctor K," the voice snapped. "How is it possible that you do not recognize my voice?"

"Am I drunk?" he wondered aloud. He'd never been drunk before, but maybe this was what it was like.

"I certainly hope not."

Wait a minute, wait a minute. "Doc?" he tried.

"Yes." The voice was quite irritated now.

"Oh. Doc. Sorry," he said, and rubbed at his eyes with his free hand.

"Ranger Series Green, your inability to exit REM sleep without prolonged periods of lethargy and confusion suggests the need for a longer rest cycle. This is yet another reason why you should abandon your extracurricular activities in the evening and attempt to sleep at least nine hours per night in order to function as a productive member of this team."

Ziggy would have pointed out that most of his interrupted nights were the fault of Venjix, not video game marathons, but his brain wasn't quite sharp enough yet to make those connections. "Doc, do you know what time it is?"

"Yes. It is three minutes after four o'clock."

"In the morning."

"Yes." He could almost see her sitting at her computer desk, head tilted back and eyes closed, pinching at the bridge of her nose the way she always did when she was getting fed up. "I am aware of that, thank you."

"You should be asleep."

"I've been busy on Project Lantern. If you could manage to stay awake during my project updates, you would know that."

"Right, Project Lantern." He fought the urge to sink back into his pillow. "What was that again?"

"I'm developing a program suitable for upload into the Venjix superstructure." She sighed again. "The sequences encoded within the Lantern program are designed to infiltrate and begin a cascade failure that should result in a fatal programming error for Venjix and its network. If successful, this could be a major step forward in our battle."

Ziggy couldn't even begin to follow that. "Good, that's good. Uh… is that why you called? 'Cause that's fascinating and all, really, but--"

"I need you to come downstairs."

"Why do I always have to be the one you experiment on?" he whined. "There are other members of this team besides me, you know. Why am I always the guinea pig?"

"This has nothing to do with rodentia or experimental technology. I need to discuss a matter of extreme importance with you."

"Right now?" Perhaps hanging up from the start would have been a good idea. Perhaps there was still time.

"Series Green, if necessary I will wake Series Red and Series Black and ask for their assistance in escorting you to the lab."

"Good luck waking either of them up at this hour."

"They will not be pleased when I inform them that their rest would have continued uninterrupted had you been more cooperative."

Ziggy groaned into the pillow. "Why me? It's always me."

"Come downstairs, Series Green."

"Fine," he muttered. He managed to get the telephone receiver somewhere in the vicinity of the cradle and staggered up, shrugging into jeans and an old T-shirt before making his way down the stairs. He was even more exhausted than usual, as the team had been out late the night before, but for once it had nothing to do with Venjix. The whole gang had taken a road trip to Mr. McAllistair's little house on the eastern outskirts of the city, where Flynn and his dad had cooked up Abernethy biscuits, cheese scones, poachers salmon and something called a cranachan that sounded strange but tasted delicious. The chicken and black olive pizza had been a bonus afterwards, and Flynn's dad had regaled them for hours with stories of Flynn's service in the police service and firefighters association prior to their arrival in Corinth City. When Flynn admitted that he had saved over a dozen kittens from a single apartment fire once, that led to a lengthy discussion in which the others tried to top the accomplishment, and over the next few hours Ziggy learned all sorts of things he hadn't known about his friends -- Summer's competition in the AMA Motocross Championships, for example, and Scott's qualifications in semi-active radar homing missiles, and Dillon's unmatched skill at mahjong. Of course, Ziggy believed his own story was the coolest, as no one could hope to top a six-month jail term in terms of winning friends and influencing people.

As fun as the evening was, though, it would have been better if Doc K had come along. She certainly would have been able to tell a story that trumped his own prison sentence, as how many people could lay claim to having written the computer program that destroyed the world? She had refused to even consider it, of course, due largely to Project Lantern and her massive and not wholly undeserved guilt trip over the whole Venjix thing.

The base used only minimal illumination at night, and Ziggy squinted as he made his way toward the square of brilliant light that fell from the lab's open doorway into the dim hall. Perhaps the doc was regretting having missed out on the fun. It was as good a reason as any for why she'd seen fit to drag her favorite punching bag from bed at four a.m. Not that she had ever been much for social interaction of any kind, but she was getting a little better, at least. She liked quizzing Summer on the intricacies of hair styling, which seemed to be a topic completely foreign to her and possibly beyond understanding, and certainly she took enjoyment in the verbal jabs that she let fly his way on an almost daily basis. Perhaps they weren't quality interactions, but at least she was acting a little more human.

Ziggy could hear Doc K typing at a rapid-fire pace inside her lab, and even when he walked in, squinting at the brightness, the sound didn't let up. "I'll have you know I didn't brush my teeth," he announced, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he pressed a shoulder into the doorframe. "So if you're worried about morning breath, I can just go back to bed."

"Or you could brush your teeth and come back," Doc K said airily, her fingers still flying across the keys.

"You're asking a lot for 4 o'clock in the morning."

"Sit," she said, and he stumbled forward obediently, dropping onto a stool in the corner.

Doc K sighed then, and Ziggy peered in her direction. She was sitting at her desk, keyboard moved to the side, studying a shimmering three-dimensional rendering of DNA molecules that hung suspended in the air before her. Glancing up at him, she drew a finger gently through the hologram, making it ripple. "Project Lantern," she said.

"That's it?"

"This is the theoretical core of the technology. I'm trying to refine the program in such a way that it can be manually inserted into the Venjix superstructure with covert defenses to guarantee ultimate effectiveness."

Ziggy ran a hand down his face. It wasn't unusual for Doc K to spit technobabble at him at an incomprehensible rate, but she usually waited until a decent hour to do it. "I thought you said that thing was a program you could upload."

"It is a program, but I no longer believe it can be successfully uploaded. Manual insertion will likely be the only way to give Project Lantern an opportunity for success. Venjix has created sizable defenses to protect its core system processes from unauthorized uploads."

"Yeah, I would think he has a heck of an anti-virus program." Ziggy stifled a yawn. "What does this have to do with me again?"

"Series Green," she said, and her voice was tinged with a peculiar note of trepidation. It surprised him, and he squinted over for a second time. "Do you remember the conversation we had when you first received the morpher that controls your abilities?"

"This is why you got me out of bed?"

"Do you remember?" she pressed.

"I remember a whole lot of yelling, yeah."

She moved a hand gently through the hologram again, studiously avoiding his eyes. "I'm referring to the conversation we had when I first allowed you to take possession of the Series Green morpher."

"Wait, you mean when I was taking it to Tenaya 7?" He vaguely remembered that. "Back when you were still pretending to be a computer screen."

"Yes. I said--"

"I remember." He straightened up, frowning. "You told me I had to guard the morpher with my life. Is that what this is about? You think I'm being irresponsible again? I'll have you know, I don't even take this thing off in the shower."

She wrinkled her nose. "That is not the issue to which I am referring."

"What then?"

She bit her lip, then looked away, and the lab lights shimmered off her dark hair. "I told you that your morpher contains the base DNA code for the series technology."

"Right, and that I can't let it fall into the wrong hands, blah blah blah."

"Series Green… it's more than that." She stood abruptly, shoving her chair back from the desk, and walked to the far wall where the Ranger suits were encased. Her eyes wandered across the bright colors, and it did nothing to reassure Ziggy that her eyes lingered on his own uniform, wandering across the shimmering shades of green. "Your Series Green technology was designed to carry that DNA coding, as a backup of sorts to the work I've done here. If my research is accurate -- and I'm sure it is -- that feature could also be the solution to stopping Venjix for good."

"Really?" He sat up, a bit more awake now. "What do you mean?"

"The Ranger technology was developed for two reasons -- first, certainly, for human operators to defend humanity, but it also serves as a direct counterattack to Venjix," she explained, her back to him still. "The Ranger powers themselves are the complete antithesis of what I developed in the creation of Venjix. The two software programs are toxic to one another. That's why Dillon's had such trouble," she added. "Ranger technology and Venjix technology don't mix well at all."

"Like trying to get a Mac to talk to a PC." Ziggy nodded.

She turned her head a little, and he could see the barest trace of a smirk. "Your ability to distill highly complex theories and algorithms into ridiculously simple examples is truly remarkable, Series Green."

"Thank you." He stifled a yawn. This wasn't sounding too promising after all. "So, our technology and Venjix's technology don't work together. That still doesn't explain why I'm sitting here."

"Project Lantern is built on the same coding sequences I used for the Ranger program. Coupled with the platform of the Ranger technology, that program is designed to create a catastrophic failure of the Venjix hardware if inserted properly. If my calculations are accurate -- and I'm sure they are -- it would take no more than three minutes before Venjix technology was reduced to a point of fatal error."

Wait, _that _sounded like something he should be listening to. "So... wait. You're telling me that to finish Venjix off for good, all we have to do is get this technology into its system? Three minutes later he'll freeze up and become the world's ugliest paperweight?"

"Essentially. In theory, if Venjix was successfully infiltrated and the necessary upload accomplished, it would destroy the entire threat that Venjix poses to our world. Permanently."

"Doc!" His body snapped to sudden attention, shaking away his lingering grogginess as his mind began to race. "That's fantastic! This is what you've been working on?"

"Yes, but it's not that simple," she replied tightly, pressing a hand against the glass that held the suits. "Series Green, the only way to get the program uploaded into Venjix's hardware sucessfully is to do it manually."

"So?"

"And the only technology with the foundational DNA codes to make that upload possible is yours. It would have to be you," she added, turning to face him, and he was stunned to see her face pinched and drawn, almost as white as her lab coat. "If all other options fail, only Series Green alone is capable of uploading and initiating programming that would result in a catastrophic failure for Venjix."

"Well, so what? I can do that!" he exclaimed. "What's the problem, doc? You think I can't?"

"I'm sure you can," she said, shaking her head. "I'm not doubting you."

"Good! Doc, this is great news! Shoot, I can go now if you want," he added, hopping off the stool, unable to keep the grin off his face. "Did I ever tell you about the time I stole one of Fresno Bob's toupees?"

"Series Green..."

He paid no attention. "That wasn't just infiltration; it was ninja skills. I went all the way into his bedroom closet--"

"Series Green!" she shouted, somewhat desperately this time.

"You wouldn't believe how many of those things he has in there--"

She stomped her foot on the floor, hands curled into fists at her sides. "Ziggy!" she cried, and he startled, head snapping in her direction, stunned to hear the sound of his own name on her lips. She was staring at him angrily, and her eyes were brimming with tears. "Ziggy… the Series Green technology will be destroyed as a result the upload process." Her voice was thready, the words broken. "It can't survive. Which means, neither can you."

He simply stared at her, trying to comprehend the impact of her words. "…What?"

"The Project Lantern programming only works with your own Series Green technology, and it requires that both be uploaded into Venjix for the cascade failures to begin." She blinked, struggling to keep face, and he watched in shocked silence as a tear ran down her pale cheek. "The Series Green technology is now bonded to your DNA, in the process that made the technology a permanent part of you."

"How can *I* be uploaded into a computer?" he demanded. "Doc, that doesn't even make any sense."

"You can't, but Series Green -- the coding in your DNA -- that can." She swallowed, hard. "And that process will kill you."

He stared at her in disbelief. "You gave me powers that are going to kill me?"

"It isn't what I intended. It's a failsafe -- designed only in the very remote chance that I couldn't stop Venjix any other way," she said, her voice rising a notch as Ziggy shakily turned away from her, going to her desk and leaning against the edge as he stared at the hologram, still shimmering there. "I never thought there was a chance it might have to be used."

"And you think there is now?" he asked hoarsely.

"We... we may not be able to stop Venjix without this." Her voice faltered behind him. "The technology is becoming more and more advanced. That robot you and the others fought two days ago was series thirteen. Project Lantern and your ability to carry it might be the only solution left."

The DNA strands in the hologram before him twisted, shimmering. Their languid movements seemed suddenly sinister. "And it would have to be me?"

"Series Green is the only one capable of carrying the program. That's the reason I recruited a Series Black operator first… I was hoping I would never need anyone to take on Series Green."

"Geez, Doc," he sighed. "Why didn't you tell me all this before?"

"You became the Series Green operator before I ever had a chance. Besides that, I didn't want to cause you undue alarm. It has only been in recent days that I… that I have begun to realize the futility of our battles."

Ziggy looked back over his shoulder at that. "Are you giving up?"

She didn't reply immediately, and he narrowed his eyes. Doc K's mouth was opening and closing with no sound forthcoming, and she looked absolutely miserable. In any other circumstance, he might have felt for her. "I… I am not giving up, Series Green. I am merely preparing for all possible outcomes."

Ziggy redirected his gaze into the hologram, into the shimmering pieces of programming that sketched out his fate. "Doc, no offense, but I really don't want to die for your mistake."

"I sure Dillon doesn't want to, either," she replied, after a moment of surprised silence. The regret in her voice was undercut by a thread of anger, now. "I'm sure the six-point-seven billion people who died when Venjix rose to power weren't thrilled about it." Her voice shuddered on those last few words.

Well, there was certainly truth in that. Sighing, Ziggy turned away from the hologram. "Look, doc… I'm sorry. This is just a shock, that's all. I'm sorry."

"There is no need for apologies. I am the one who should be asking your forgiveness." She stood alone and forlorn on the opposite side of the lab, and suddenly seemed very small. "You and the others are required to risk your lives on a daily basis because of my mistake. I should at least be able to give you the hope that you will ultimately survive."

"Doc, it's okay."

"It is not," she replied tightly. "I understand if you wish to depart at this time, Series Green. I've betrayed your trust…"

He pushed away from the desk and stepped closer to her, careful to maintain at least a few feet between them. Despite all the progress she'd made, Doc K still had a thing about her personal space. "You haven't betrayed anything."

"I owe you an apology for not telling you about this." She wiped furiously at her cheeks, turning her back to him. "You should have had full knowledge of what you were being tasked to do. I owe you--"

"You don't. Listen, it was my choice to take on these powers, okay?"

"But you didn't know they could kill you."

"I did," he replied. "I did know that, Doc. I mean, you do realize that we're saving the world here, right? We all know what the cost might be. We put our lives on the line every time we go out there, Project Lantern or not."

He saw her head dip as she swallowed. "If your intention is to offer comfort and reassurance, you're doing a poor job."

Hesitantly, Ziggy reached out and placed a hand on her narrow shoulder. She flinched, but did not draw away. "Doc, we're all in this together. I can't say I'm thrilled about having to blow up with Venjix, but we don't even know yet if that has to happen."

"I apologize, Series Green. I truly do," she said, her voice still somewhat desperate.

"Call me Ziggy. If you're going to kill me, that's the least you can do."

She turned, staring at him with a mix of despair and suspicion. "How can you say that?"

"Say what?" He offered her a cockeyed grin. "I say a lot of things. You'll have to be more specific about the one you mean."

"How can you be so at ease with this? We're no longer talking about a risk of death," she protested. "Series Green, this may become a certainty for you."

Was she really asking him if he was okay with this? Perhaps she'd never met him before. "I told you, you have to call me Ziggy now." He smiled again, and she returned it, though her lips trembled. "Doc, do you want me to say I'm scared? That sometimes I wish I'd never gotten into this mess? Yeah, of course that's true, but we can't do anything about what's already happened. Listen, you're the smartest person I know. We'll all work together on this, okay? We'll figure something out. Hopefully none of us will be dead at the end of it."

"What if I can't figure it out?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly.

Impulsively, he reached out and grasped her hand in both of his. Again, she didn't pull away. "We'll figure _that_ out when the time comes, Doc. We'll get through this."

She stared down at his hands upon hers. "Will we?"

"So long as you don't give up on me. We'll make this right," he assured her.

"We may make things better," she sighed. "But we'll never make things right."

He wasn't sure how to answer that, so he just squeezed her hand. "I do have a question for you."

"What?"

"This really couldn't have waited until breakfast?"

She laughed shakily, pulling her hand free to wipe at her eyes. Ziggy grinned, and tried valiantly to keep the growing dread firmly down in the pit of his stomach, where it wouldn't make his hands shake or his eyes fill with trepidation.

There was no question about it. Phone calls at 4 a.m. really sucked.

* * *

**Author's Note, pt. II**: No, this is not turning into a romance between Ziggy and the doc. It IS turning into a friendship, which is something both of these lonely souls need more than they know.

**Next up:** "Acts of Courage," in which Dillon does not react well to Doc K's news about the destiny of Series Green. Meanwhile, Ziggy finds himself in the curious position of being able to protect his friends in a battle, instead of it being the other way around. Unfortunately, it comes at a cost.

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	13. Acts of Courage

**Author's Note:** This chapter picks up right where "Lonely Soul" left off. I may have taken some liberties with Kilobyte's appearance. Also, these characters aren't mine, etc. End disclaimer.

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**Acts of Courage**

Ziggy was pretty sure his left elbow was fractured. It hurt like a bitch where he'd thrown it backward into what he thought was going to be the soft, vulnerable throat of a Grinder sneaking up behind him. He had wound up connecting with the robot's chest instead, as the Grinder had been airborne and in mid-tackle. Ziggy's elbow had made a sound like an egg cracking against the edge of a frying pan, and before the pain had even registered, the entire weight of the robot came down clean across his back and planted him face down in the lush grass of Corinth City Park.

It was an ignoble end for a Ranger, to be taken down by a single Grinder that was really no more technologically sophisticated than Doc K's coffeemaker. Ziggy's visor had kept him from getting a mouthful of dirt, but it had been hard to think that optimistically given the blinding arcs of pain shooting like needles from his shoulder straight down to his fingertips. He hadn't even been able to scream about it, because every sharp angle the Grinder had was actively digging into his back, pinning him fast and crushing the air out of his lungs.

It was a bad situation, but luckily it had also been a brief one. The weight was gone a moment later, with such abruptness that it took Ziggy a second to remember how to breathe. Gritting his teeth, he concentrated on sucking in air, forcing himself to function despite the radiant pain in his arm that was coloring the world in bright, sparkling shades of gold and blood red. Behind him, he caught the violent sounds of someone making quick work of the Grinder, and by the time he had propped himself up gingerly with his good arm and twisted around to look back over his shoulder, he found himself staring up into his own reflection, mirrored in Scott's faceplate.

Which brought him to now, his body awkwardly positioned on the ground and his left arm caught protectively up against his chest. "Hey," he said.

Scott was on one knee before him, clutching his street saber in his right hand and gripping Ziggy's shoulder with his left. The Grinder's twitching remains were in a pile a few feet away, and beyond that Ziggy could see blurred streaks of yellow and black that were most likely Summer and Dillon, slicing their way through what was left of the attacking Grinder force. In normal circumstances, Ziggy would have felt bad that he could be upended so easily, but there was room for nothing inside his head now but pain and maybe a one-syllable word or two. "You okay?" Scott asked. He sounded breathless.

Ziggy nodded, easing himself around to a seated position and keeping his left arm tight against his ribs. "Yeah," he managed. "Fine."

Scott stood up, peering down at him silently and obviously not convinced. Ziggy offered up nothing else; he couldn't, and just stayed where he was, aching arm cradled close and legs jutting out before him in the grass. Summer had always told him that being a Ranger might not come as naturally to him as it did to the others, but that the skills and abilities would come around. Apparently, that day was still pretty far off. "Need a minute?" Scott finally asked.

Ziggy took in another light breath, pushing himself to think through the pain. "Probably, I think. Scott?"

The Series Red Ranger didn't move, but from the tilt of his head Ziggy could see the eyebrow arching in silent question.

He searched for the right words. "How... um... how pathetic do I look right now?"

Scott chuckled. "Not so bad."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Series Red, give him a minute to catch his breath," Doc K ordered, her voice popping and crackling over the communications link inside their helmets. "The battle is well enough in hand to give Series Green a brief respite."

"Got it," Scott replied, and turned on his heel to brace himself right there in front of Ziggy, muscles tensed and sword angled at the ready. Ziggy could see him turning his head with quick, calculated movements, scanning the picturesque park which had now become a battlefield. "Let me know when you're ready to get up," he added over his shoulder.

Well, if Series Green hadn't been the world's saddest excuse for a Ranger before, he was certainly there now. But Ziggy smiled up at Scott's back anyhow, almost forgetting the pain in his elbow as it settled back to a grumbling throb. It was amazing to think that they could all be sitting around the garage one minute, caught up in the swift tempos of a wicked argument with the doc, and protecting each other's lives and limbs on the battlefield the next. The argument itself hadn't been that unusual; like the adopted brothers and sisters they were, they squabbled all the time about topics ranging from the serious to the inane, but this one...

...this one had been a little different.

Doc K had given them all a six-thirty wake-up call that morning. Team meeting, she had said curtly when the alarm went off. No exceptions. From the undercurrent of exhaustion in her voice, she clearly hadn't been to bed, and Ziggy could relate. Although he had spent hours with the covers pulled tight around him, the cool sheets held no appeal, and he had stared sleeplessly at his digital clock as the hours ticked away, minute by minute. The dome outside had warmed to deep blue, then light blue, then finally gold as simulated dawn broke over Corinth City. He had showered and dressed, then without comment had settled himself cross-legged in the middle of the pool table downstairs to think. One by one, Summer and Scott and Flynn had wandered in, but their sleepy expressions and complaints had dwindled when they caught sight of him and of Doc K on the far side of the room, clinging to the shadows, her eyes red-rimmed.

"What's going on?" Summer asked, looking around suspiciously. "Has something happened?"

"I need to share some information with you, that's all," the doc said evenly.

Scott put his hands on his hips, looking vaguely annoyed that he wasn't already privy to the news. "Well, what is it?"

"We'll wait for Dillon," she said, but her voice wavered under Scott's unflinching, unnerving gaze.

"I thought you said there were no exceptions to this meeting," he bit out. "What's going on?"

"I had Dillon patrolling the east borders last night," she said. Her jaw was set tightly. "If he needs a few more minutes to get himself collected, he can have it."

Ziggy lifted his head at that bit of unexpected news. "You sent Dillon out last night? Why?"

"Have you not noticed, Series Green, that it is almost impossible for anyone to have a conversation with you without Series Black showing up?"

Actually, he hadn't. "Really?"

"Yes. And given the topics of discussion between us last night, I--" She cut herself off abruptly, and he could almost hear her teeth click together against the words.

"What discussion?" Scott looked back and forth between them, his dark eyes narrowing. "Is there something you two are keeping from me?"

"I have an item of importance to discuss," she replied. Her words had gone so cool, Ziggy almost expected to see her breath in soft clouds of fog against the air. "As it pertained directly to Series Green, I felt a conversation best to have with him first."

"What IS it?" Scott demanded. "Doc, come on."

"We'll wait for Dillon."

"Are you sure THAT'S the best idea?" Ziggy muttered.

The doc gave him a dark look, but Ziggy saw the shift of emotion in her eyes like a gulped swallow.

Five minutes later, she had told Scott, Summer and Flynn everything.

And Scott's reaction had been priceless.

*****

"I won't let him do it," Scott said, folding his arms. His eyes had gone flinty cold, and he stood there in the middle of the garage, smoldering with anger. Flynn had fallen back to the small kitchenette, gripping with both hands at the counter edge behind him, while Summer hovered near Scott, running hands through her long, glossy hair as she stared at Doc K with an expression of disbelief. "I won't, Doc, so that's that."

Doc K sighed. "Series Red..."

"I won't!" If he had added an indignant stomp, he might have been a six-year-old on the verge of a tantrum. Ziggy dropped his eyes to the soft green velvet of the pool table below him. "I'll take the upload," Scott added. "Let me have it, Doc. I'm the leader of this team."

"As you frequently remind me."

"Then start acting like you hear it!" he snapped.

"Series Red, your willingness to take on this mission is noble, but your suit does not contain the foundational programming necessary to carry--"

"Then give it to me!"

"I can't," she said flatly.

Ziggy looked up in the silence that followed, and Scott was standing tall and angry, the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching. Flynn was much closer to him now, watching with caution, as though ready to leap between them. "You built Project Lantern. You built the Series Green technology."

"Yes."

"Then why didn't you give it to me?" His voice almost broke-- almost, but not quite-- and Ziggy was startled to see pain etched lightly into the lines around his eyes. "How can you ask him to do this?"

"It wasn't my intention." Doc K rubbed at her temples. "At the time, I thought it would be a good failsafe for us to have in place in our battle against Venjix. As I told Series Green last night, I never thought there was a chance it might be used."

"But you've known," Scott said. "You don't think we can win this on our own, and you've known this was an option. That's why you went so long without finding a Series Green operator," he added, eyes widening at the realization. "This had nothing to do Summer and Flynn and I being a perfect team. You knew that whoever would take on the Series Green powers..." His voice faltered, and he turned to stare at Ziggy. "...You knew you would be giving him a death sentence."

Doc K folded her arms tightly. She did not speak.

"And that's why you refused to get close to him, too, isn't it?" Scott demanded. His eyes never left Ziggy's face, and there was fear in them. "You didn't want it to be personal when you had to send him off to die. My God, Doc, you knew, and you didn't even care! Why didn't you tell any of us before now?"

"Series Red," the doc said. Her voice was wavering; unsteady, and Ziggy saw her face beginning to crumble. "We... we will continue this conversation when you've calmed down." And with that, she spun and bolted from the room, the hem of her lab coat billowing out behind her.

"God," Flynn muttered, and ran a hand down his face. "I don't believe this."

"Ziggy," Summer said gently, and her hand was over his a moment later. He blinked sharply, and suddenly realized that his three teammates had gathered close to him, Scott leaning on the edge of the pool table with both hands and Flynn at his shoulder. Summer had climbed up onto the pool table to sit next to him, both her hands resting firm over his. "Ziggy?"

"I'm okay," he sighed.

"What did she say to you last night?" Flynn demanded.

"The same thing she just told you guys." He swallowed against the dryness in his throat. "She wanted to let me know."

"Ziggy," Scott said evenly. Ziggy glanced over at him, and was surprised by the fierceness in Scott's eyes. "You do NOT have to do this."

"Well, that's not true." He grinned a little, despite himself. "If we fail, I sure have to do this. We can't let Venjix win. But... I've been thinking about it, you know?" He glanced at the worried, caring faces around him. "I just don't think we're going to fail."

Scott straightened up, his expression uncertain. "You're not upset about this?"

"Oh, I'm upset," he chuckled. "But you guys know this whole Ranger thing has scared me from the start. So what if I might have to blow myself up to kill Venjix? I think that I'm going to get blown up every time we're on the battlefield anyway."

Summer laughed softly and pressed her forehead against his shoulder.

"Listen, I don't want us caught up in this," Ziggy added. "Yeah, it sucks and yeah, the doc should have told us all about it a long time ago... but I think we'll beat Venjix another way. I have faith in us."

Summer's hands tightened over his suddenly, feeding his courage. "Don't be afraid," she said. "I don't want you to be scared of this, Ziggy. We will not let this happen to you. Hey," she added, and slipped her fingers underneath his jaw, turning his face towards hers. "You hear me?"

He swallowed. "I do, and I trust you," he said. "You all know that. But... I guess it's hard not to be scared, y'know?"

"My dad once told me, 'Act as if ye have faith, and faith shall be given to you," Flynn said. "Maybe that will help."

He frowned. "If I pretend that I'm not scared, then I won't be?"

"Worked for me," he said with a smile. "And by the way? You've got nothing to BE scared of, friend. Not while I'm here."

"And me," Summer added, leaning up to plant a gentle and impulsive kiss on his cheek.

"And me," Scott said, and brought a fist down against the pool table in determination. "We're going to beat Venjix, guys, and we're doing it together."

*****

Ziggy pulled himself to his feet on the battlefield, gritting his teeth. He kept his sore arm tucked safely against his ribs, and blew out the pain on huge, gulped breaths. Scott glanced back quickly over his shoulder. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," he replied. "I'm good."

"'Cause you don't look so good."

"I'm fine," he replied dismissively. He tried to straighten his left arm experimentally, and the flash of awakened fire nearly took his breath away.

A hand was suddenly beneath his good elbow, propping him up. "Easy," Dillon warned, bracing Ziggy as he got his feet back beneath him. "What happened?"

"He got a little shaken up," Scott replied. He sounded distracted, and Ziggy glanced up to see Scott's attention fixed on the treeline not far away, where Kilobyte was crossing weapons with Flynn. The general was a hell of a thing, even from that distance; he was monstrous, his dull silver armor gleaming like a foot-thick plate of armor. Flynn was grimly holding his own against him. "Dillon, can you take care of Ziggy?"

"Yeah," Dillon said, and Scott was gone a second later, sprinting over to the heart of the fight.

Dillon let go of Ziggy's arm and turned to face him. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Ziggy confirmed, holding his arm close to his ribs. "So long as I give this arm a break."

"Stay with me," Dillon ordered. "We're outnumbered and you're in no shape to be fighting on your own."

"Yeah, okay," Ziggy said, trying not to let his gratitude show too plainly. He looked back at the battle, watching Kilobyte pivot on his heels to face down Scott and Flynn at once. "So, any idea what that tin can's after?"

"Kilobyte's never after anything except to make our lives miserable," Dillon muttered.

"From the transmissions I intercepted, Kilobyte does not appear to be here on a mission from Venjix," Doc K interrupted, her voice crisp in their ears.

Ziggy scowled, knocking the knuckles of his good hand against the side of his helmet. "Remind me to never talk about anything private while I'm in this getup."

"Kilobyte appears to be on a self-directed mission to prove himself by attacking the five of you on his own. This may be related to the male tendency to display dominance, which I have found to--"

"Later, Doc," Dillon snapped. A sizzle of loose electricity grabbed their attention, and Ziggy frowned when he saw Flynn and Scott being tossed away from Kilobyte in graceless piles, their chests smoking from a wicked impact. "Crap. Come on, Zig, let's give them some help. I'll watch your back."

Taking a deep breath, Ziggy tightened his arm against his side and charged forward in Dillon's shadow.

*****

When Doc K had finally returned to the garage after her blowup with Scott, she was holding a clipboard in her hands. Her eyes were red again, and her expression was pinched. "Forgive me," she said simply, when the eyes of the four Rangers landed upon her. For a moment, Ziggy wasn't sure what she was asking. "I... had a matter of pressing business to attend to."

"Is there anything else you want to tell us?" Scott asked icily, folding his arms. "Anything else we should know?"

"I apologize for not sharing this with you earlier," she said. Her eyes fixed on a random point against the opposite wall, her stare vacant. "I should have. And as I am expressing my regret, I feel there is an additional point that needs to be clarified. Series Red, your earlier assumption was incorrect."

"You're going to tell me you didn't know what you were giving Ziggy?" Scott demanded.

"I knew," she said hollowly. "But your assumption that I did not care... was incorrect."

Scott's indignation deflated slightly, and Ziggy sighed, rubbing his free hand over the soft surface of the pool table. "Guys... what's done is done, okay? We know what we need to do. Give the doc a break."

"I just want to know that she's sincere," Scott said flatly. "After all she's kept from us..."

"She is," Ziggy replied, meeting Doc K's eyes. She didn't look away, and he saw them again-- tears, trembling on the edges of her lashes. "She is."

Noise on the staircase caught their attention, and every head in the room turned to see a sleep-rumpled Dillon stepping into the room, smothering a huge yawn in his hand. "Sorry," he said absently. "I had a hell of a night. What did..." His voice faltered as he took in the scene; his teammates clustered around Ziggy, and Doc K standing alone. "Uh..."

"Doctor K has news for us," Scott said simply, and turned to her. "Care to bring Dillon up to speed?"

She sighed, straightening her shoulders as though to steel herself.

One hundred and twenty-three words later, she had told him the whole thing.

"I can confirm to you this morning that Project Lantern is a success," Doc K said, her words clipped and rushed, as though getting them out faster might lessen the sting. "It will require a manual upload and initiation, but if these steps are successful, I calculate a 95.9 percent probability that it will cause a fatal programming error that will destroy Venjix." She clutched her clipboard to her chest, knuckles going white. Ziggy noticed that she was studiously avoiding Dillon's keen gaze. "Unfortunately, in order to be properly uploaded, the Project Lantern program requires the Ranger Series base programming that exists in Series Green's technology. Successful upload, while destroying Venjix and salvaging our planet and its people, will lead to the destruction of both the Series Green powers... and their operator." She choked a little on that last part, and Dillon's expression slowly melted to disbelief. "As a result, Project Lantern has become an effort of last resort... but it is still a viable option if worst comes to worst." She swallowed, hard, and slowly lifted her gaze to Dillon's face. "I thought you should know."

Disbelief melted to fury within the space of a heartbeat. "You're making him go on a suicide mission?"

"I told you, this is a final option," she protested. "It would only be considered if every other attempt to thwart Venjix fails."

"We've been trying to stop him for months!" Dillon snapped. His voice was getting louder with every word he spoke. "What makes you so sure that we'll get it figured out now? Venjix is twice as strong as he was when we started!"

"Dillon, relax," Scott said. "We're going to figure something out." He reached out for Dillon's shoulder, but Dillon jerked away. His eyes were upon the doc, and they were murderous.

"Guys, can we have a minute?" Ziggy asked, sliding forward to the edge of the pool table. "I want to talk to Dillon."

"This is a team matter," Scott replied firmly, watching Dillon with wary eyes. "If anything needs to be resolved, we should do it as a team."

"Actually, I think this is personal," Ziggy hedged, and after a blink of surprise, Scott pressed his lips together and nodded with reluctance. He knew how close the friendship was between Dillon and Ziggy; had seen it himself from the very start, when Dillon had defended their new Series Green operator from his own teammates. That, maybe, was why Scott left without argument, clapping Ziggy firmly on the shoulder before walking out. Flynn and Summer trailed after him, their lingering glances back filled with pity and compassion.

With the three of them gone, Ziggy turned his full attention to Dillon. He was pacing the far side of the room furiously, hands clenched up into fists. He looked up, and when he saw Ziggy watching him tentatively, he snapped. "Is she kidding me with this?" he demanded, pointing toward the empty doorway where Doc K had stood. "She's got to be kidding me."

"I just found out last night," Ziggy replied, easing himself off the pool table. "She just decided to tell us."

"What the hell is she thinking?"

"I don't know. She seemed to think the whole thing was a good idea when she first set it up."

"She's insane," he gritted. "Billons of people dying wasn't enough for her? She's going to start going through us now, too?"

"She didn't let the virus loose, Dillon."

"But she made it, didn't she?"

From the corner of Ziggy's eye, he saw a ghost of white lab coat in the shadowed corner of the room. "She lives with that every day, Dillon. Every day, she has to wake up knowing what she did. Every time she looks at you, she has to remember what Venjix did to you in those experiments, and to thousands of other people. I think she's been punished enough without us turning against her, too."

"How can you say that? She wants you to die for her mistake."

He sighed. "That's what I said to her."

"I should be the one," Dillon said abruptly, stopping by the far wall.

"How's that going to make things better?"

"I already have Venjix technology. I can infiltrate that damned computer easier than anyone."

"What, did he give you maps or something? Dillon," Ziggy said, stepping closer. "Besides the fact that I'm the only one who can do this, your plan still ends up with somebody dead. You dying is just as bad as me dying."

"No, it's not," he muttered. Then he put a fist into the wall.

"Geez, Dillon!" Ziggy stared at the sizable dent left behind, then tried to grab Dillon's arm to check the damage to his hand. Predictably, Dillon jerked away. "Would you stop?"

"I'm not going to let you do this," he said flatly. "I'm not. I won't. Over my dead body will you do this, Ziggy. I mean it."

"I'm not planning to do it," he replied, extending his arms. "This is a point of no return plan, Dillon. It's only if nothing else works out."

"What are the odds that nothing else will?"

"I don't know. Blackjack's the only game I've ever been good at."

Dillon pinned him with a cold, stony gaze, but there was agony in his eyes. "Too many people have already died, Ziggy."

"We always knew that we could be part of that," he shrugged. "Did you think being a Ranger was something you'd get to retire from?"

"It has to stop," he protested, shaking his head. "How many more people have to die?"

Ziggy glanced away, uncomfortable with the intensity of Dillon's emotion, and scratched absently at his head. "Well... and I'm just speaking theoretically here, Dillon... what if we have no choice?"

Dillon simply stared at him.

"Does it really make sense," he continued, "for everyone who's left to die, too, just because I didn't want to? If worst comes to worst, isn't it better if I go and save the world than if I chicken out and die anyway, plus take the rest of the planet with me?"

"I thought you said you weren't planning to do it."

"I'm not," he said. "But I'm trying to be realistic."

Dillon sighed, running a hand over his face. "You don't deserve to have to carry a burden like this."

"Well, maybe. But there's not much I can do about it."

Dillon looked back at him again, and his eyes burned with ferocity. "What if I said that I'm not going to let you do it?"

"Knowing what's at stake?" Ziggy asked hollowly. "C'mon, Dillon. This is bigger than all of us."

Dillon sagged against the pool table, staring at his scraped knuckles. "I need to go out and kill something."

"That's not going to make things better, either," Ziggy pointed out, stepping up tentatively to lean against the pool table next to him. "Unless you pick Venjix, but Scott already took that plan."

Dillon looked down at him, shaking his head as though mystified. "How can you not be scared?"

He laughed. "Dillon, I'm terrified. But that's not going to keep me from doing what's right."

"You're that brave?"

"Yeah." He grinned. "Flynn gave me the secret earlier."

Abruptly, Dillon hugged him.

It had been years since anyone had hugged him, and it took Ziggy a startled moment or two to remember to hug him back. Dillon was ridiculously strong thanks to his implants, and though he was crushing Ziggy's small frame just a little, it was sort of nice anyway. Dillon was warm, and he smelled like oil and gasoline. Whether that was due to his hobbies or his upgrades was anyone's guess.

When Dillon pulled back a second later, his face was pale and set. "I'm going to promise you something."

"Driving privileges for your car?"

"No." He took Ziggy's face in his hands, and Ziggy blinked again, startled to feel the warm, calloused thumbs pressing gently against his cheekbones; the fingers against the sides of his neck. "I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure that worst never comes to worst, okay?"

Dillon's dark eyes were boring into his own, fierce and earnest. "Okay," Ziggy said. "Thanks."

"But if it does..." Dillon looked away, took a breath, and then looked back with a gaze that had become sharp with resolve. "If worst does come to worst, Ziggy, I'll be with you."

"You can't," Ziggy protested, pulling back. "Doc said I have to do it... upload the program and initiate it. And whatever fun stuff comes after that."

"She didn't say I can't be there." Dillon clapped him on the shoulder, smiling. "And I will be."

"Dillon... if I'm blowing up Venjix and blowing up too, you're probably not going to want to be there. Like, not within five miles."

"This is the deal," he said. "No arguments. If you have to do this... God help me, Ziggy, if you have to do this, you will not do it alone."

Ziggy felt the tendrils of cool fear that had been gripping his heart since 4:09 a.m. that morning lose their grip, and he smiled, unashamed of the dampness building in the corners of his eyes. "Really?"

"Yeah," he said. "What are partners for?"

This time, Ziggy hugged him.

Forgotten in the shadows, Doc K slipped quietly away.

*****

Ziggy glanced over at Dillon now, grinning despite himself. Dillon had left him near the base of a tree to dive into the heart of a tangle of Grinders, and Ziggy was keeping a sharp lookout, resting his arm. He felt a little sick and lightheaded still, but that had less to do with his elbow and more to do with the fact that somebody would actually offer to die with him.

To _die_ with him.

God, how amazing it was to have friends.

Looking away from Dillon, Ziggy scanned the battlefield, looking for the vivid red, yellow and blue colors of his remaining teammates. Flynn and Summer were paired up now, a good distance past Dillon, and Scott was...

Scott was back towards the treeline, sprawled on the ground. Kilobyte looming over him.

Ziggy blinked.

Scott was struggling to sit up, and Kilobyte had his scythe blade in the air, watching Scott's weak and vulnerable movements. The light of the artificial sun glimmered against the weapon's sharp edge.

Ziggy didn't think. There wasn't time to think, really. He forgot Dillon and his arm and everything else, and a heartbeat later he was sprinting across the grass towards the two of them, summoning his turbo axe as he ran. As soon as he was within range he let the weapon fly, and was almost as surprised as Kilobyte was when the thick blade bit deeply into the general's back.

Letting out a roar of rage, Kilobyte spun around. Ziggy had barely enough time to realize he was within the general's reach when the flat side of the scythe blade struck the side of his helmet, colliding with enough force to fling him away. Ziggy twisted in the air, clearing Scott's dazed body by barely a foot before landing hard on his right side. It would have been fine if he could have stopped himself then, but momentum kept him tumbling, and when he knocked his sore elbow against the ground, the only thing that kept him from throwing up was the thought of doing so inside his own helmet, which was unfathomable.

It took a moment for his vision to clear, but when it did he scrabbled up, coughing and blinking his bleary eyes, squinting desperately at his surroundings. He couldn't find Summer or Flynn at all, but he saw Dillon a distance away, still engaged with the Grinders, clueless as to the drama playing out behind his back. Scott was lying just a few feet before him, obviously shaken, still trying to lift himself off the ground. His street saber was lying within arm's reach, knocked away during the battle.

And there was Kilobyte, standing tall and looming threatening over them both. The robot was staring at Ziggy, his metal face blank but red optics gleaming with triumph. Although Ziggy could see the handle of his own turbo axe sticking up at an odd angle from where it remained firmly planted between Kilobyte's shoulder blades, the general was raising his scythe blade once agin, and he had its point aimed directly at the center of Scott's chest.

"Shit," Ziggy breathed, and he scrambled to his feet, snatching Scott's street saber for good measure. Once stride, two, and he launched himself into the air, tucking his body into a neat forward somersault that he would never have pulled off if not for the Series Green powers enhancing and embellishing his every movement. Taking a cue from the Grinder that had laid him out earlier, Ziggy unfolded in the air and hooked his good arm around Kilobyte's neck, slamming forcefully into the robot's massive back. He knew he didn't weigh nearly enough to topple a behemoth like Kilobyte, but the general did stagger from the impact, and Ziggy scrabbled for purchase where he clung, bringing his bad arm up for a better hold.

Kilobyte stumbled left, then reached up with his free hand to grope over his shoulder for Ziggy. Ziggy simply clung all the tighter, ignoring the pain in his arm as he tucked his head close against Kilobyte's own. His muscles were stretched and the breaths he did get in were nasty, smeared with the brassy scent of metal and heated electronics. He kept his grip tight despite that, however. Perhaps he couldn't bring Kilobyte down like this, but if only he could distract him long enough for Scott to get away...

Kilobyte stopped suddenly, chuckling deep in his throat. He seemed to have almost forgotten about the Ranger clinging to his back, and as Kilobyte looked down, Ziggy looked with him to see Scott still on the ground, trying futilely to scramble back and not getting far. Ziggy's heart lurched when he saw the deep crack in the side of Scott's helmet, giving him a clear understanding of why his leader had been unable to use the time Ziggy had bought for him.

Kilobyte raised his scythe blade one more time. "Shit," Ziggy said aloud again, trying in vain to squeeze at the robot's throat with his forearms.

"Ziggy?" Dillon called, his voice tinny inside Ziggy's helmet. "Where are you?"

There was no time to explain, or even to speak.

Stretching forward with his right hand, Ziggy's fingers brushed the teleportation buttons on his morpher, barely able to reach them around Kilobyte's thick neck. He offered up a quick and desperate prayer that this worked; _please, God, let this work_…

Two seconds later, in a dazzle of electric gold light, both Ziggy and Kilobyte were gone.

*****

Still sprawled on the ground, his head swimming, Scott coughed weakly. Something had happened before him; something important, but his head felt as though it was stuffed with cotton candy and he couldn't quite remember. The air smelled like sulfur, and he was certain someone had just been standing there, right there, but there was nothing now but grass and trees. What the hell was he missing?

Flynn came skidding to a stop beside him, his blue suit blending with the blue sky above. Scott squinted to make him out. "Where did they go?" Flynn demanded, twisting to look around him. "Where are they?"

"Ziggy teleported," Summer said breathlessly, rushing up. "He took Kilobyte with him. Doc, can we track where they are?"

Dillon joined them a second later. "What happened?"

"Kilobyte was trying to kill Scott," Flynn said, motioning at their shaken leader. "Ziggy teleported him somewhere."

Before Dillon could reply, his helmet vanished, and he felt the reassuring crawls of energy over his skin abruptly disappear as his suit powered down. He blinked at his gloved hands in confusion, then looked up to see Flynn and Summer wearing equally baffled expressions on their now-exposed faces. "What the hell is this?"

"Stand by, Rangers," Doc K ordered over their communications link, her voice coming from their morphers now and slightly distorted as a result. "Kilobyte's disruptors have severely drained your powers. You're not going to be able to power back up for at least twenty minutes."

"We can pull auxiliary power from the Zords if we need to," Flynn offered.

"Yes. Thank you, Series Blue."

"I'm just saying," he replied defensively.

Summer knelt beside Scott, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to steady him as he tried to stand. "Forget about that," she ordered. "We need to find out where Ziggy teleported himself and Kilobyte, right now."

Muttering a slew of curses under his breath, Dillon opened his communication link with the base. "Doc, please tell me Ziggy didn't send himself and that monster to the same place."

"Stand _by_, Rangers. Your signals are weakened and it is proving difficult for me to--"

"We don't have time to stand by!" He snapped. "Tell me where they are!"

"Dillon!" Summer shouted. He turned to see Scott collapsing back to the ground, and darted forward to help ease him down. Summer peered worriedly into Scott's half-closed eyes. "Scott? What's going on?"

Scott gritted his teeth, letting his eyes slip closed the rest of the way. "Kilobyte stunned me a little, that's all. I'll be fine. Dillon, we've got to find Ziggy... he used his teleportation to get Kilobyte away from me when he saw I'd been hit. Do you know where they are?"

Dillon gritted his teeth, but before he could unleash his frustration in Doc K's direction, her voice came back across the line. "I don't have a fix... but I can confirm they aren't inside the base." They heard the sharp sound of her hands coming down flat against the desk in frustration. "Ziggy teleported himself and Kilobyte outside the shields."

"Why the hell would he do that?" Dillon snapped.

"Series Green's teleportation is controlled more through the thought process than through button combinations. No doubt he tried to think of the best place he could go... the safest place."

"The safest place for who?" Summer asked. "Not for him."

Flynn looked over, his face pale. "For us."

"Tell him to get back here!" Scott ordered, and pressed a free hand against the side of his head to tame what had to be a wicked headache. "Tell him right now!"

"He's out of range. I can't even pinpoint his location. But..." They heard her swallow. "I can confirm that he's low on power reserves, like the rest of you. Wherever he and that monster are, teleporting back will not be an option."

Dillon felt the hairs rising on the back of his neck. "Find him, doc," he said flatly, and tried not to let his voice shake. "Find him NOW."

*****

When Ziggy and Kilobyte rematerialized, Kilobyte immediately swung his body around in a sharp arc, and Ziggy went flying, landing face-first in a pile of sand. He struggled out, twisting over, and was grimly satisfied to see Kilobyte stalking back and forth in the dull, sallow emptiness of the wasteland, his armored feet sinking deeply into the loose surface. "No!" he roared. "I was so close!"

Ziggy glanced around him, pleased despite the itch of sand leaking into his boots. He was getting better at this teleportation stuff all the time. "Well, sucks to be you," he said brightly, and pressed his teleportation buttons again. Time to get the hell out of Dodge.

Nothing happened.

And a second later, he didn't even have a damn helmet.

"You are freaking kidding me," he said, as his heart froze and his stomach turned over. "Doc? Can you read me? I need a little help here!"

Kilobyte took a step towards him, eyes glowing maliciously as Ziggy heard nothing but static burping out of his morpher. "Well," the general said with a feral grin, exposing a jawful of sharp teeth. "I may not have your leader at my mercy, but at least I have you." As Ziggy watched nervously, Kilobyte reached back to dislodge Ziggy's turbo axe from his body, wrenching it free and ignoring the painful screech of weakening metal as he did so. He brought the axe forward in his left hand, still grinning, and clutched the handle of his scythe blade in the other.

Ziggy stood slowly, almost losing his footing in the loose sand. Over Kilobyte's shoulder, his desperate eyes found the dome of Corinth City, but it looked a heck of a long way away. He gulped as fear, heavy and cold, settled across his shoulders and leeched through his skin. Who would have thought that he wouldn't have to worry about blowing up for Venjix after all?

_Act as if ye have faith..._

Taking in a shaky breath, Ziggy tightened his gloved hand around the handle of Scott's street saber, drawing the weapon before him. Sunlight-- the real thing for a change-- trembled along the edge of the blade. He could feel adrenaline pounding through his veins, and he was almost dizzy from the effect, but it felt good. He felt alive. Hopefully, he wouldn't get to know what it was like to feel dead.

Kilobyte's eyes gleamed, and he tossed the axe away to bring up his scythe blade with practiced assurance. "Any last words, Series Green?"

Lifting his eyes, Ziggy met Kilobyte's wicked glare. "Bring it on, asshole."

* * *

**Next up:** The battle is on in chapter 14, "What It's Like to Die Alive."


	14. What It's Like to Die Alive, pt 1

**Author's Note:** This update is shorter than my usual offerings, but since I've already kept you waiting for longer than I intended, I broke this chapter into two parts. I'll try to have more soon. As you'll see below, readers who review get a special sneak preview of what's coming up next. Clearly, there is incentive for everyone here. :) Also, quick note on the song lyrics -- this time around, I've pulled a cool electronica song that speaks beautifully to our dear Doctor K, and is most famous for having its bridge sampled by Jason DeRulo. Check it out sometime, as it's worth a listen.

This is not beta-read and is, in fact, hot off the presses, so any mistakes are my own. If I've screwed something up terribly, let me know. Finally, and most importantly -- enjoy!

**What It's Like to Die Alive, pt. 1**

_  
"Whatcha say, that you only meant well  
Well, of course you did  
Whatcha say, that it's all for the best?  
Of course it is…"  
_-- Imogen Heap, "Hide and Seek"

Doctor K's hands were flying.

Slender, graceful fingers moved in a blur of motion across her keyboard, and she was typing so rapidly, so _fiercely_, really, that she knew her hands and wrists would ache with the strain of it in a day or so. But there was no time to think of that, and not even time to glance away from the monitors before her, which flashed through information screens at a pace almost as rapid-fire as her own.

_Grid search quadrant AHF688-19 - negative_

_Grid search quadrant AHF688-20 - negative_

_Grid search quadrant AHF688-21 - negative_

She couldn't look away, not even for a second. A cold, heavy weight was sinking into the pit of her stomach, and fear tickled at the back of her throat.

She was going to let him down again.

It shouldn't have mattered, because it had never mattered before. Everyone in the world had let _her_ down, from her absentee parents to the administrators at Alphabet Soup to even Colonel Truman, who couldn't even look at her now without that awful, damning glint in the back of his eyes. And certainly, she had turned right around and let everybody in the world down, too. She, after all, had created the sentient computer virus that had driven 99.2 percent of the planet's species to extinction and converted 94 percent of the earth's surface to hot, arid climates that might never recover, thanks to Venjix's series of nuclear attacks that had left the atmosphere thick with choking radiation.

Destruction of the planet and almost all of its life. Take that, Alphabet Soup.

_Grid search quadrant AHF688-22 - negative_

So what did it matter if her power resources were drained and her equipment, for all its sophistication, couldn't track the location of Series Green in the wasteland? On a scale that went all the way up to "Ending Life as We Know It," he was nothing but a piece of dust, and he was annoying on top of that. It was his own fault that he was out there with no power and no backup plan. In fact, his very presence as a Ranger Operator tarnished the program's reputation severely. He could barely hold his own in battle and he had proven a liability time and time again, despite that perplexing energy that seemed to hover around him like an aura of happiness, and his loyalty, and the way he would do stupid things like risking his life to save a team member when he knew full well that they were desperately low on energy reserves. Or the way he would catch her eye and smile sometimes, just small enough that she might miss it, but she never did.

For the briefest of moments, the memories threatened to overwhelm her, and she shook her head sharply, snapping her attention back to the present.

"Doc? What's our status?"

Flynn's voice was a welcome distraction, and she slapped blindly at the communication button on the adjacent keyboard. "I'm running a grid-by-grid search to pinpoint Series Green's location, Rangers. It's the best I can do."

"We need more than your best right now, Doc."

She allowed herself a half-second to glare at the monitor to her left, where the sharp words filtered through digital speakers into her laboratory. "Once I'm able to identify his general location, Series Black, I can boost the existing communication fields to create a connection. That has to happen first."

"I don't care about talking to him! I want to know where he is!"

"That's exactly what I'm trying to figure out," she replied icily. "He couldn't have had enough power to teleport more than four kilometers outside of the shields. I've established a maximum perimeter and am working my way--"

"Did you say four kilometers?" Flynn asked. "That's over two _miles_, Doc! How long is your search going to take? We're running out of time."

_Grid search quadrant AHF688-23 - negative_

"We will find him," she snapped back. "And I've prepared a source of power reserves that I'll be able to feed him once we have his location, to ensure he's protected. Those are being prepped for rerouting to Series Green now."

"RIGHT now?"

Her patience was wearing razor-thin. "The mainframe is processing at maximum speed. Series Black, we cannot do anything for him if we don't know where he is."

"Do you even understand what's happened?" Dillon's voice was low; dangerous. "He's out there somewhere, in the wasteland, by himself, _with_ Kilobyte, and he's probably powered down just like we are. You understand that, right?"

_Grid search quadrant AHF688-24 - negative_

She took a breath. "I am well aware of the situation."

"How long do you think he's going to survive that?"

She had no idea, but speculating about the odds wasn't going to help. _Thinking_ about it wasn't going to help. She chose silence instead, and leaned in closer to her monitor, eyes scanning across the data readouts. If only she could boost the sensitivity of the scanners…

"What about a backtrack through the teleportation system?" Flynn's calm voice crackled with static across the weakened communications lines. "Do you think he might have left a trail for us to follow?"

"Normally I could trace him, yes," she replied absently, still deep inside the data before her. "But we don't have the extra power to track him. I know that he's outside of the shields, but that's all I know. I can't even pinpoint his direction yet."

_Grid search quadrant AHF688-25 - negative_

"We are wasting time," Dillon snarled.

"We are not." She straightened in her chair, letting her voice take a matching edge. "We will find him, Series Black, and when we do I will dispatch the four of you to his assistance."

"That's not going to help him if he's already dead!"

_Grid search quadrant AHF688-26 - negative_

"Doc," Summer interrupted, her voice breathy and anxious. "I need to bring Scott back to the base. Flynn and Dillon will continue standing by to go to Ziggy as soon as you figure out where he is."

Doctor K frowned, not taking her eyes from the readouts before her. "You would be better off to remain as a team and wait for my next communication. If we have to extract Series Green, all four of you need to be--"

"Scott's hurt," Summer replied simply, cutting her off. "I need to bring him back."

Startled, Doc K turned to stare at her communications monitor. "Say again?"

"I think Scott may have a concussion."

Allowing herself just a brief moment to close her eyes, Doctor K muttered a few choicely worded epithets under her breath, and put the ongoing sweep on auto-function. She swung around in her chair to turn her full attention to the Corinth City monitoring systems, and within moments, the feed from Corinth City Park south security camera 16 was tapped and running.

The Rangers were gathered to one side, and though the image was grainy, she could see Flynn standing with his hands on his hips, composed but pale, and Scott sitting awkwardly in the grass before him, one hand pressed gingerly against the side of his head. Summer was beside Scott, and Doc K noticed with growing trepidation that not only were their helmets gone, but their suits were burned and torn, betraying the ferocity of the battle they had just survived.

_Grid search quadrant AHF688-27 - negative_

And Dillon's words echoed in her mind, cold and final: _How long do you think he's going to survive that?_

She pushed through it, as she always did, and pressed her communications button once more. "Series Red, are you injured?"

They seemed unaware that they were being watched. "I'm fine," Scott replied, his eyes on Summer, and he shook his head gently at her.

She scowled in response. "He is not fine, Doc," she corrected, and silenced Scott with a dark look when he tried to interrupt. "I think Kilobyte may have given him a concussion. I'll need to bring him back and get him checked out."

"I'm fine!"

"You're a liability," Dillon snapped, and Doc K suddenly saw him in the background, pacing into view. He was apart from the others, tension and nervous energy radiating throughout his body. "Don't be a hero, Scott."

Flynn gave Dillon a thoughtful look, then nodded and dropped to one knee in front of their leader. "He's right, you know. You're not going to be able to help us out there if you can't hold your own."

_Grid search quadrant AHF688-28 - negative_

Doc K turned away from the screen, looking back at the endless grid search. "Bring him back to base. Series Black and Series Blue, I'll have an update for you as fast as I can."

"Doc?" Flynn called. "…Make it faster."

Without taking her eyes from the grid search, Doc K reached over and deactivated the security camera image with a click. "Stand by," she said flatly.

_Grid search quadrant AHF688-29 - negative_

Never once had Doctor K ever dreamed that any Ranger Operator would become her friend. That was why the project had been so easy emotionally, because she had always envisioned hulking soldiers wearing the suits, or operatives whose lives were expendable anyway. What did it matter if a few of them fell? They were nothing to her. What did it matter if the Series Green operator might have to die in order to ultimately stop Venjix? One life was nothing against the billons of others already lost.

He was just one life.

The screens flashing before her eyes blurred unexpectedly, and she shook her head again, squeezing her eyes shut. She allowed herself a moment -- just one -- to take a deep breath, and when she opened her eyes again, they were sharp with determination.

She had let him down already. Many times, if she was honest with herself.

But she would _not_ let him down again.

----------

**Next up:** The race to rescue Ziggy continues in part 2 of "What It's Like to Die Alive." Feedback fuels my fire, so everyone who leaves a review for this chapter gets a sneak preview of what's up next -- and yes, our hero is actually in it.


	15. What It's Like to Die Alive, pt 2

**Author's Note:** So what's a year between friends (and updates)?

My deepest thanks goes out to all of you who have stuck with me and this story over the course of the last 12+ months. I'm even more grateful to those who did not give me up for dead. The biggest thank you, however, goes to the handful of people (you know who you are) who begged, pleaded, threatened and blackmailed me to get this story jump-started again. Thank you for the encouragement, faith, and, in some cases, guilt trips. They worked!

I apologize for the vast delay, but as sometimes happens in fanfic writing, I found it hard to continue my motivation for this story after the series itself wrapped. I have decided to continue the long-neglected "Not Easy Being Green," however, for two reasons - first, I think that since we've come this far together, we need to finish the journey. Second, I have some stories primed for posting in other fandoms, and I think it would be cruel to come back from sabbatical with new pieces that are not related to this poor, abandoned work. Since my attention is undeniably elsewhere these days, I think it's worth noting that this story will not unfold in the way I had originally envisioned. I think there will be only a handful of chapters left, and they will not be as long or as in-depth as what came before. But the story _will_ be finished, so we have that to hang our collective hats on. I hope you enjoy it. Please keep your feedback coming, as it helps more than you realize.

So, where were we…? Ah, yes.

* * *

**What It's Like to Die Alive, pt. 2**

_"I have everything to lose  
By not getting up to fight  
I might get used to giving up  
So I am showing up tonight..."_

- Superchick, "One More"

If Ziggy had thought that he was in pain earlier, he was mistaken. Very mistaken. Sadly, almost laughably mistaken.

_Roll_, a voice inside his head interrupted helpfully, and he lurched to obey it, forcing his screaming muscles to contract as he dove out of the way of another volley of fire. He could hear Kilobyte laughing behind him, and he gritted his teeth, involuntarily swallowing sand. His response time was slowing down, and the sad truth was that he was only a handful of minutes into this battle.

_Still, though. It's been a hell of a day._

Kilobyte had wisely decided to forego his initial tactic of trying to slice Ziggy's head off with his own weapon when he realized that what Series Green lacked in maneuvers, he more than made up for in raw, run-for-your-life speed. Ever since, Kilobyte had been lumbering along in Ziggy's wake across the wasteland, using him for target practice and searing the sand into dirty glass with every missed blast. For his part, Ziggy was sweating like a dog in a Chinese restaurant (or, really, any restaurant these days). The footing wasn't good, and he'd been lucky to avoid a direct hit on more than one occasion already. One of the blasts had come a little too close to his injured left arm as it was, burning away part of the uniform on his upper arm and blistering the skin. His knees and vision both were swimming, trembling with fatigue, and his lungs were beginning to seal themselves up in protest of the choking sand and relentless heat. He was also pretty sure that everything below his left elbow was going numb, which definitely was not a good sign.

_Still, though. As Dillon would point out, thank God it isn't your shooting arm._

Not that he was all that good of a shot…

But! The bright side (and there was always a bright side, as far as Ziggy was concerned) was that Kilobyte needed about five seconds of recharge time between each blast, and Ziggy had been pretty good so far at taking advantage of that. He hadn't been named the Dodgeball champion of Dwight D. Eisenhower Elementary School in third grade for nothing.

_Still, though. There's probably a very good reason you're still alive._

Kilobyte was taking its time with him.

Ziggy ducked for cover once more, diving behind a rusted water pipe as another blast ricocheted off the metal, throwing off a shower of sparks. He started to lean back to catch his breath, but quickly thought better of it when he felt the heat radiating off the metal. Better just to sit in the meager shade it offered, try to draw in another scratchy breath, and offer up a special curse for the doc and whatever the heck was taking her so long to send in the cavalry.

Kilobyte's heavy steps gritted in the bleached sand behind him. He counted to two - he was going for five, but chickened out - then twisted over and glanced cautiously around the edge of the pipe. Kilobyte's rigid face betrayed no expression as he lingered only a dozen yards away, patiently recharging his humming weapon.

Ziggy crouched low, gently setting Scott's saber weapon down at his side. If the combat got close - and Lord knew he hoped it didn't - he could use it, but for now, distance weapons were the weapons of choice. The sun was beating ruthlessly down upon them both, but he didn't blink, not even when sweat stung his eyes.

One open shot, as Dillon would say. Just one good, open chance…

_Still, though..._

"Shut up," he whispered fiercely. This was hard enough as it was.

The relative quiet of the scorched earth fractured as another laser blast cut cleanly through the air only three feet away, eating a crater into the sand. "Come out and play, Series Green," Kilobyte cajoled.

Just a few more inches now…

Kilobyte obeyed, and Ziggy's chance was suddenly laid bare before him, ugly robot framed true against ugly sky.

And the ugly robot moved, just as Ziggy popped up onto his knees and fired.

The blast screamed harmlessly into the expanse of empty orange. Kilobyte's eyes, bulging and broken into muddy white panels edged with pink, found Ziggy almost instantly, exposed and gaping over the fact that he'd missed _that _badly. Summer would kill him.

Kilobyte beat her to the punch.

Ziggy saw a flash and felt something sear into his chest. He was shoved backwards and slammed into the sand; his head connected with something hard and unforgiving. Sudden bolts of pain ripped into him, burning and scrawling cracks into his skull. The world turned foggy and faded away from him, narrowing down to simple, desperate breaths.

And as he lay there, barely clinging to consciousness and unsure if he wanted to puke first, he realized that his own weapon still rested lightly in his hand.

Kilobyte was approaching, laughing, making a clicking noise in his throat. "That was a little too easy."

"Sorry to... disappoint you," he managed to gasp in reply. Was he dying? It was hard to tell.

The robot leveled his blaster at Ziggy's face. "Are you prepared for termination, Series Green?"

"Can I... think it over?"

"You can die," Kilobyte said simply, as the weapon's humming began to increase in pitch.

Ziggy forced himself up on his bad elbow, that pain feeling like a soft springtime breeze compared to the raw, blackened mess where his chest used to be. He felt fractured, brittle pieces of - was it bone? - grinding together as he moved and causing pops of blinding pain to erupt like fireworks in his overtaxed lungs. But the pain was distant, roiling under a wave of adrenaline, and the old, cold instincts he didn't even realize he had were still intact. Ziggy raised the weapon in his good hand, ignoring the look of raw panic on Kilobyte's face, and pulled the trigger.

For Kilobyte, the day ended not in triumph but in a blinding flash of color, as a beam of vivid green came at him very quickly. There was a sensation of being pushed towards the ground suddenly, and pain could not find him before unconsciousness did.

Ziggy was not far behind him.


End file.
